The Joker Also Sleeps
by Miffles
Summary: A tale of the Joker and Dr. Crane. Obviously, Nolanverse. Post-TDK. M for violence explicit and non , suggested adult themes, and occasional coarse language.
1. Lights Out

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me. This is free and belongs to other people.

* * *

Fluorescent bulbs flickered every few moments in Arkham's offices. Doctors and interns scrambled to get that last report filled, that last evaluation filed away with the rest. It was in the hands of the guards at that point. Oh sure, a few professionals would stick around to make sure every "T" was crossed, each "I" dotted. But it was truly the guards who kept Arkham a haven of insanity at night. They were the ones who made sure that the psychos left the tortured souls alone. It was their job to make sure that the new arrangements at Arkham went without a hitch. Patients being transferred from cell to cell, each assigned to their own padded loft. If they were good, they were put together. If they were bad, they got a special cell.

The Joker was bad. He was very bad. So bad he had earned his own room in the high-security wing of the asylum. Three walls, a door, and a six by two inch opening in the door for security to look in on him whenever they needed or wanted. The opening was near the top of the door, a few bars to keep his hands inside at all times. Upon his small cot he sat. Staring at the door. Smiling at the door. He had placed his small food tray at it's base like he was ordered to. In a matter of moments, a guard would open the small metal latch, slide out the food bowl, and lock the latch back up. That's how it went every evening at what he gathered to be 9:00.

As though it were clockwork, the guard's goateed face soon blocked out the light from the hallway. Joker waited for him to sink down to pick up whatever was left on the tray. A click and a squeak. He could see the small metal food hatch lifting.

"Uh, excuse me….Murray, was it?"

No response came, the latch opened. In an almost inhuman manner, the Joker dove towards the tray. His body spread on the floor, his fingers gripped onto the plastic. Through the latch he could see the guard's feet and shins crouched near the ground. Here was a man who just wanted to earn his measly wages by keeping the bad guys behind padded walls. Even from the nondescript legs the Joker could tell the last thing this guy needed was to be toyed with.

"I said….it was Murray…wasn't it?" He enjoyed playing with what few toys he had in Arkham.

"Let go of the tray," the guard responded.

"Murray, I promise you that in the long run this tray won't mean a THING to you." A small struggled ensued. The guard jerked his hand back, but the Joker did not release the plastic.

"It's Michael."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Michael then. Michael," Joker pulled quickly on the tray, the guards hand fully within his cell from the force. "I want one of those." With his free hand, the Joker tapped on Michael's imitation Rolex watch.

"Patients aren't permitted to have objects they could use to hurt another patient, guard, or staff member."

With a sigh the Joker released the tray. He could here the small skids being made but Michael's patent leather shoes on the cold tile of the hallway. "Michael, I just want to know what time it is. Is that such a terrible thing? Hmm?"

"It's time for lights out," Michael said as he shut the latch.

The Joker remained on his stomach for a moment. He looked up at the opening at the top of the door to watch Michael-Murray's shadow walk away to finish his pointless rounds. He'd have to remember to kill him later. From his current point of view, the Joker could see bits of dirt mingled with crumbs on the ground. The bread was always stale. No matter how good the rest of the food was, the bread was stale. He pushed himself up slowly, going into a push-up before sitting back on his knees. He scooted towards his bed. No bombs, no knives, nothing to help out under the metal frame. He kneeled before his somewhat tidy bed and listened to the noise from the hallway. Three more trays to be picked up. Of course, none would be so hard to get as his own. After the trays were gathered, his cell light would go out, and Michael-Murray would tell himself and others to keep it down and get some sleep.

"Three….two…." The Joker put his elbows on the mattress. His fingertips leaned against each other. "One…." The last of the trays was retrieved. Michael-Murray's shoes flopped on the tile. In ten seconds the lights would be out.

Bzzz bzz bzzt….right on time. The fluorescent above him flickered out completely, emerging the Joker in darkness. The only source of light was from the hallway. From there he heard the guard.

"You guys just keep quiet for a few hours and we'll get to do it all over again tomorrow."

What a sad little existence for that man. All was silent as the door to the next corridor opened and shut, clanking with each move. A few coughs filled the air. Crane, two cells to the right of Joker, had caught a cold, the poor dear. In a matter of seconds Joseph, the guard the Joker always remembered, opened and shut the hall door. He got first watch. The Joker didn't remember Joseph because of his name, or his lack of conversational skills. He remembered Joseph, because he was the only guard the Joker had any grain of hope for. This was a guy who always had a five o'clock shadow. Recently divorced, no custody of kids. Truly a man to have fun with.

All was dark and quieted, and the Joker clasped his hands together. In a voice that almost sang, he bowed his head and spoke.

"Oh Lord, let me live another night, and you won't have to deal with me. Please send my enemies to an early grave, and please bless the good Doctor Crane with a full recovery. Please give Batman the strength to carry on until I am released at last. He's the only one in this city that makes it worth keeping." Throughout the prayer, he sounded like he could burst into laughter at any second. "In your name I pray, Amen." It was his all-time favorite joke.

He crossed himself and stood up, stretching his arms for a moment. He'd always be quiet before Joseph could bother him. He slid beneath his single white cotton sheet, and rested his head oh his thin, stiff pillow.


	2. The Waking Stage

Many patients opted to take medication before they slept. Suppress nightmares, make it easier to fall asleep. Some patients were forced to do this for their own good, or for that of those around them. The Joker fell into neither of these areas. He was an absolute terror to deal with, a fiend and a criminal. During the day he made life at Arkham a veritable Hell for anyone who crossed his cell door. But bedtime was sacred for him. He was sedate in the eyes of others. Almost an angel with the way he quieted himself and resided to his bed. Lights out was the time when the world was exactly how he hated it. Quiet, organized, relaxed. It was a hatred he wished to enjoy in solitude and silence.

He lied there, still underneath his cover. His scrubs were warm enough, and the blanket at least sufficiently covered his arms. The rough cotton irritated his bare feet a bit, but it wasn't anything that bothered him entirely. The Joker closed his eyes, listening to the stale air of the asylum wing. Though he was silent at night, and relatively calm, he was not one to fall asleep quickly. He enjoyed that eerie sense that at any moment, one of these sedated madmen would snap, hopefully injuring someone in a fit of unbridled rage. In Arkham it wasn't the snapping the Joker enjoyed so much as the tension that came with its unstoppable approach. That excitement one had before opening the big Christmas gift.

A particularly sharp cough from Crane rattled through the hallway. A man, across the hall and the left of the Joker, screamed at the sudden ill outburst.

"God DAMN it!" was followed by a sudden thud. Most likely the frightened patient's pillow. Trodder was his name. "Would you shut up for one minute you son of a wh-"

"Trodder!" The sound of Joseph's baritone voice curled the Joker's mouth into a smile. Eyes still shut, he could here the guard shuffle his way to Trodder's cage.

"That goddamn-"

"Trodder," Joseph tried to assert himself, but the resting Joker could here his lack of confidence. "Keep yourself under control or I will NOT hesitate to get Wilson in here."

Wilson, that cold bitch of a nurse. Her shots were known to leave you bruised for a week. Her hands were like sandpapered baseball gloves. Her touch was enough to make even the strongest of men recoil in fear for their life. An effective threat under any context. Whether it be tranquilizers or a tetanus shot, she was a woman to be revered with the fear of God.

"Now, Joseph." cooed the mucus-ridden voice of Dr. Crane down the hall. "A bit rash, don't you think?" Another hacking cough filled the air. All had gone silent at the sound of the former employee.

No one liked to hear Dr. Crane speak. Not after what he had done to a good half of the patients in Arkham. To their friends, their families, their lives as they knew them. His voice was enough to even rub the Joker the wrong way. The clown's smile turned to a sneer. That smug bastard. How dare he break the evening's tension before its peak with his hacking death call. That doctor. That good for nothing filth. He held a special place of contempt in the Joker's heart. Though he had to admit, the doctor was good at what he did. Sloppy, lacking showmanship, but nonetheless efficient.

The Joker rolled onto his side, facing the wall. Unfortunately, this was not the first of night's where that tenseness, that intimate air of chaos, had been broken before climax. For the past week, Crane had been interrupting that euphoric state the Joker had grown accustomed to in his little section of Hell. He wasn't one for regularity himself, but some systems were too beautiful to be disrupted. It was that beautiful system that let him know what time it was. After lying in bed, he could feel a good half hour pass before things became a mess. After the doctor's speech, another fifteen minutes crept by. Though that tension was building, it was a different sort of unease. It wasn't natural like it had been before the cough. It was an unease of the patients caused by Dr. Crane. It was an artificial substitute that left the Joker disappointed. This wasn't how he liked his evenings. Fake. Impersonal. There was no sense of gratification in knowing that the very natures of those around him were enough to send the hallway into a state of latent chaos.

He smacked his lips slowly, running one finger over the scar on his left cheek. It felt a bit like a caterpillar that had been sliced in half. His tongue rolling over the inside of his cheek. There, the scar was like a bit of coal stuck in his mouth, sans the chalky taste. His hand dropped on his side, and he could feel himself becoming drowsy. His muscles began to relax, his eyes began to slowly shut. His mind ran through ideas he wouldn't remember in the morning. Horrible, amazing ideas.

The first stage of sleep slowly surrounded him. Rattled coughing filled the air once more. A wheeze came from Crane's direction. It was enough to roll the Joker on his back, nothing to stir him from his bed. The air felt a bit cooler. It must have been 10:00 by then. The thought of a watch crossed his mind once more, it's shined face taunting him with immovable time.

It was 10:13, and the Joker was asleep.


	3. REM

At 11:52, Joseph was relieved of his duties in the high-security hall. It was time for him to sign out and head to the parking lot. From there, he would spend a few minutes searching for his car. He was used to driving in the black Honda, but Sheryl had won that in the settlement. He was left with an old pickup he bought from a friend. A piece of junk that would drive him home to his one-bedroom apartment in shame. In his place came Andrea. She was an older woman. Late fifties, a head of thick grey hair. A tough old bird. She had her life together. Her husband was a police officer near retirement. He died four years before in a run-in with Falconi's men. They had three children, all in their thirties, and ten grandchildren. Though she had worked within the walls of Arkham for upwards of ten years, the Joker had yet to make her acquaintance.

Andrea silently stepped into the hallway. The door slowly closed behind her, gears clanking shut. She made her way down the hall, and back up once more. She would pace back and forth three times before leaning against the wall near the door.

Inside of his cell, the Joker was in a different world. His eyes rolled about in their sockets. At 12:18 he was at the peak of an absurd dream, the likes of which he would never recall. Not that he would ever have a need or desire to. Were someone in the room with him with the lights on, they would notice a bit of color leaving the flesh of his face. His skin was a pale peach, a bit blotchy from cosmetic abuse. It had been ages since he had his tribal paint. His hair had grown out since it was last dyed green. A good three inches of dark-blond was visible near the greasy roots. His scars were all that kept him looking like more than a human, even in his sedated state.

A hack. A wheeze and another hack. At around 12:30, Dr. Crane went into a coughing fit. Those who were without sleep medication awoke drowsy and angered. The Joker was not among this lot. Andrea, with the patience of a saint, calmly made her way to the doctor's cell.

She spoke softly, doing her best to not disturb the others. "Jonathan, are you going to be a-"

"Son of a whore!"

"What's going on? What's happening?"

"Oh dear lord why me why?!" It was a chime of voices that sounded like they were banning together for a mutiny against Dr. Crane.

"Oh, yes, An-" before he could finish speaking, Dr. Crane was overcome once more with a hacking cough. This is when the Joker stirred. He did not slowly awaken, his senses taking a while to catch up with his body. Rather, he opened his eyes, almost immediately sitting up. Was this honestly happening? Was this sick delusional freak actually waking him up in the middle of the night?

"Alright, everyone, calm down." Andrea's voice was that of a stern grandparent. It sent a wave of loathing through the Joker's veins. Most of the patients were already getting back to bed. A few continued to ramble on. "It's going to be alright, just go ahead and get some sleep. We'll take care of Jonathan."

Another cough. The Joker stood. Slowly, deliberately. Step by step he made his way to the door. He could hear the screeching static of Andrea's walkie-talkie as she called for one of the nurses. The chill on the ground felt like a coolant had been spilled across the concrete. It felt liked the kin of cold from around 1:00 in the morning, but the Joker wished he had a watch to double check. Something to let him know exactly when it was Crane had dared to wake him up.

"Doctor? Doctor Crane?" The Joker leaned his forehead against the door. He could see through the bars, the harsh lighting an eyesore. He waited for a response and was rewarded with a hack. "Doctor Crane, really-"

"That's enough." Andrea interrupted the Joker with a stern tone.

"You know," the Joker shook his head slightly, putting his hands on the door. He tried to adjust his head so he could see the woman, but to no avail. "It is just the darndest thing. I don't even KNOW you, and yet I have this-this sudden urge to eviscerate you. Is that a bit odd? Hmm?" Andrea began to walk towards the Joker's cell slowly, her foot steps like those of a soldier. Though the Joker continued to sneer, his mind was grinning with absolute glee. "I mean here I am trying to have a polite convers-"

There was a quick boom of a knock at the door. Andrea pivoted and made her way to open the metal beast. A nurse entered the room. He was younger, on the handsome side. His nametag said "Robert," though he looked like more of a Prince William. With him were two guards. One held a straight jacket, the other a loaded riffle. The Joker listened as Dr. Crane's door was opened. He could hear the cloth straps of the straight jacket tightening. He could hear Crane's feet shuffling as he was escorted out of his cell, hacking and coughing all the while.

"Call my secretary in the morning," the doctor called back. A hack, and he cleared his throat. "She'll get you an appointment."

The Joker licked his lower lip as Dr. Crane was escorted out of the hallway. He remained at his cell door, fingers running up and down its secure frame.

"I uh…I would like to file a complaint." He cleared his throat. "Guard, I would like to…file a complaint."

Andrea closed the latch of the hall door. A few patients mumbled about the Joker continuing to disturb their peace.

"Excuse me," she responded once she was in front of the Joker's cell. She was a shorter woman, and had to look up in order to see into the opened slot.

"I said I would like to file a-"

"Sir, I advise you to get back into your bed."

The Joker tensed. He narrowed his eyes, his fingers crept up to the opening of the door. "Miss?" He licked his bottom lip quickly.

"Return to your bed b-"

"What time is it?" He closed his eyes, flustered. Words were beginning to fail him.

"Get back in bed." Andrea lowered her voice. She stared up at the Joker, able to see his eyebrows and hairline.

"You are…the single most INFURIATING woman…I have yet to meet." The Joker opened his eyes. He tilted his head slowly to the right. "That is the SECOND time, alright the second time…that I've just tried to…ask one little question."

"I need you to get back in bed. Right…now." Her voice shook the slightest bit. That was all the Joker needed to hear.

He wrapped on the door once with his knuckles before turning. He leaned his back against the door for a few moments before standing upright. He took two steps towards his bed before turning his head towards the door the slightest bit. He could hear the shuffle of the guard's feet as she turned to return to her post.

"Oh, miss."

Andrea stopped. She wanted to ignore him, but knew she couldn't. More importantly, he knew she couldn't.

"Just so there aren't any more misunderstandings like this between you and I…" He smirked and licked his upper lip. "I'm going to kill you."

His words were followed by silence. Both remained with their feet planted. It was a contest. Who would be the first to fold to the tension and move? The Joker was well-aware of this contest. It was beyond him whether or not Andrea knew about it.

She did not know. And she was the first to take steps back to her proper place.

The Joker smiled and walked back to his bed. Now, at what felt to be 1:30, he decided he actually was going to kill her.

It was 1:37. The Joker sat on his bed. His eyes had wandered around in the darkness for a good five minutes. He sighed softly and lied down, resting his head on his pillow. He pulled the sheet back over himself, covering his arms and hugging them to himself.

He had quite the to-do list.


	4. The Sleep Cycle

And so it began again. Cool air washed over the Joker's face as a small breeze burst through the air conditioner. It was always cold at Arkham. In the summer, it was a blessing. Though in colder months, quite the contrary. That night it was rather pleasant. It had been unusually warm outside. The nurses and doctors reveled in the refreshing chill of the hospital. It didn't make a difference to the patients. They were always cold. Though the air was relaxing, the Joker wasn't able to sleep just yet. Not so long as Andrea was within fifty feet of Arkham.

Come 2:03, Andrea was free to leave the building. She didn't do nightshifts unless they were short-staffed. She would be able to go home and sleep until 8:00 that morning. Then she would have to get herself out of bed, call her children, and get ready for duty again at 11:30.

Stepping in for Andrea was Lucas. He was a young man with a buzzcut. A newcomer to the Arkham staff. That's why he was given the nightshift. He'd have less to deal with when it came to the patients. He was signed up to be on duty until 5:00. With him, he had a book about coping with autism in your family. A few pages were dog-eared, a few others had sticky notes to mark them. When he learned his little brother had the disease, he wanted to know as much as he could to help him. Lucas wasn't an easily distracted man. They book was to keep him awake after his first hour and a half of duty. It worked better than hot coffee, and was safer to have around psychotic killers.

Until 2:10 he walked slowly through the hallway, looking in on the patients every other time he passed. One or two were awake and turning over in their beds, though they were quiet. Lucas took a quick break to lean against the wall near the main door. He picked up his book and began to thumb through the pages. The Joker had seen the guard's shadow pass his door four times. By what would have been the fifth time, he had already shut his eyes involuntarily. He wasn't awake for Lucas's second walk of the hall, nor his third or fourth. No, the Joker slept peacefully. Though his mouth was relaxed, he smiled through the remainder of Lucas' watch.

At 4:35, Lucas's walkie-talkie started up with the screech of a harpy. The voice on the other end was muffled, panicked. It called for O'Brien. Several of the patients stirred at the sudden jolt of static. The Joker's eyes flickered open. That dead cold in the air gave way to the nearing of dawn. He sat up in his bed as other patients began to revolt against the pathetic guard.

"Oh God turn it off!"

"What's happening?"

"Who's there?"

"I'll kill you! Turn it off! Turn it OFF!"

"Alright everyone, calm down, it's just my walkie-talkie." Lucas stepped towards the center of the hallway. He desperately tried, and failed, to ease the patient's nerves. The device flared up once more. Those who were awake screamed, waking up those lucky enough to have had sleeping medication. Lucas called into the source of the problem.

"Can I get a nurse down here?" he called out to anyone listening.

"Just break it, man, please, just get rid of it!"

"Oh my God I'm dying I'm dying!"

"Goddamit! Can I get a nurse down here?"

"It won't matter." Amongst the audio chaos swarming about him, the calm, quiet voice stuck out. Lucas looked towards the cell behind him, just to his left.

He called into the walkie-talkie once more, the noise around him growing. "Can I please get a nurse down here?" Lucas stepped towards the door. He was tall enough to look into the cell. He saw a man, barely lit, sitting cross-legged on his bed.

"It won't make a difference. You can keep calling. They won't send anyone. It's not how they work. No see," the Joker cleared his throat. "They don't like to HELP people when they ask for it, no. You see it boosts the rate of return, keeps business booming." A small, yipping laugh followed his words.

Lucas stood still, staring into the darkness of the Joker's cell. The noise raged around him, patients turning against one another. They shouted across their cells, throwing insults and accusations like pebbles. Their paranoia hit a peak, but it was lost on Lucas. He didn't care about the wild creatures behind bars. He was captured by this bizarre creature, sitting like a picture from a children's book. "You're…you're that clown, aren't you?"

"Mmhm…you're even fresher than I had expected. Unfortunately," he stood up slowly, his hands pushing him from the bed. "You're about as original as I imagined." He walked towards his cell door. He licked his lower lip quickly as he approached the barrier between himself and the young man. "Tell me now, what's your name?"

There was a pause. Lucas looked around him, snapping back to reality and hearing the other patients. "I need to-"

"No no no…thick metal doors, everything's alright. Now," the Joker smiled. "What's your name?"

"It's…Lucas." He spoke as though he were turning himself in for murder.

"Lucas? Lucas. Mm," the Joker tilted his head back, his upper lip curling in disgust. "No, I don't care for that much at all." He narrowed his eyes. "Now look, Samuel. You don't belong in here."

The guard looked as though he had been slapped. He shook his head slowly. "I'm more than qualified to-"

"No no. Don't try to fight it. This just…" the Joker raised his arms up as though he were going to hug the air. He waved his hands in quick circles. "This whole thing. It just isn't you. Trust me. Now Joshua, this place is perfect for him. Murray is fine for the job, but you my friend." The Joker put his hands on the door and leaned forward. "You are…a disgrace…you are a…BLEMISH on the face of this establishment."

Lucas was silent. Horrified. He couldn't take a step back or forward. All he could do was look at the cell door. "I'm…not sure I understand wha-"

"You wouldn't, now would you? Listen, Samuel." The Joker lowered his voice. "There isn't a single fiber in your body worth preserving. You, to me, are the sickest, weakest, most pathetic excuse for a man I have ever seen." Lucas began to open his mouth in retaliation. "Up bup bup…the truth is harsh, but must be heard. If I don't tell you, no one will. Now," the Joker narrowed his eyes, like he was trying to see the wall through Lucas. "When your shift is over, Samuel. I want you to go to administration, and turn in your gun and papers. Because if I see you down here one more night, I will kill you. Despite my utter disgust at the thought of getting close enough to strangle you, I will take it, and strangle you on sight."

Lucas stared at the Joker, his eyebrows drawn together. His face held the fear of a man who had just looked into the eyes of Satan.

"Do you understand, Samuel?" The guard did not respond. "Samuel?" The Joker tilted his head and looked expectantly to the man. Lucas nodded slowly. The hall door began to open. Lucas stepped away from the Joker's cell and made his way to the end of the hall to be relieved.

"Oh, Samuel, one more thing?"

Lucas froze in place and looked back towards the Joker. "Y…yes?"

"What time is it?"

"Uh…um…" Lucas brought his wrist up slowly. He looked at his digital watch. "It…it's 4:57."

The Joker leaned against the door for a moment, listening as Lucas explained to the other guard what had driven the patients into a frenzy. The Joker sighed as the watch changed. It would be dawn soon. He made his way back to his bed slowly, lazily, like a drunk heading to a cab seat. He slid underneath the covers. The Joker looked up at the ceiling and cracked his neck. He spoke to the darkness.

"Sweet kid."


	5. Daybreak

Administration at Arkham was run by white-collar Yale graduates. Dr. Andrew Yeardly was available in his office weeknights from midnight to six in the morning. He was a short, portly man with a thick moustache and a bald spot on the back of his head. His blue eyes were yellowed with age, hidden behind Coke-bottle glasses. He sat behind his desk the majority of the night. His gaze would shift between his paperwork and the picture of his wife and child he kept on his desk. Every few minutes he would cough. Age wasn't being kind to him, and his immune system seemed to grow steadily weaker each year. He had taken more sick days that year than any other in his twenty years of employment at Arkham.

Dr. Yeardly's office was quiet for the most part. He would deal with the occasional complaint or nurse. It was the complaining that made him take the graveyard shift. However, that morning, things were not so quiet. At 5:10 Dr. Yeardly was at the home stretch. The night had been pleasant enough until there was a knock at the door.

"Come on in," he called out lackadaisically.

The door opened slowly. Lucas stepped into Yeardly's office cautiously. He did not speak. Lucas merely shut the door behind himself. He took his hat off nervously, holding it delicately.

Yeardly didn't look up. "Have a seat, just a moment."

Lucas didn't move to sit. He remained silent. At the lack of response, Yeardly glanced upward. Lucas' face was pale, sickly.

"Dear, God…are you alright?" Yeardly lifted his head and squinted. He examined the guard's face with great scrutiny.

"No…no I'm not alright."

"Well, what's the matter? You look like Death."

"I…" Lucas cleared his throat. "My name is Lucas Himmly."

Dr. Yeardly stared at Lucas for a moment before wheeling back in his chair. He scooted over to a filing cabinet and unlocked one of the drawers. After scanning through various beige folders he pulled on out.

"Himmly, Lucas." Lucas nodded as the doctor placed the folder on his desk. He opened the file and looked through it briefly. His eyes looked back up to the still motionless guard. Lucas opened his mouth for a moment, but closed it quickly. With legs like cracked wooden columns, he stepped towards the doctor's desk. Lucas placed his hat on the table. He reached for his holster. His fingers shook as he removed the leather holder from his belt. He gently laid the holster and gun on the desk before the doctor. With fingers still quaking, Lucas removed his badge and placed it between his hat and gun.

"I would like to announce my resignation." Lucas couldn't bring himself to look into Dr. Yeardly's eyes. He was much too ashamed. The former guard nodded once and turned. He walked towards the door, his body aching like he had been electrocuted. He slowly turned the doorknob and opened the door to the hallway.

Dr. Yeardly watched silently as Lucas stepped out of his office. Before he could even tell the young man otherwise, the guard looked back briefly. "I'll mail my uniform back." And with those words, Lucas shut the door behind himself.

The doctor was baffled. What could have happened on such a calm evening to cause this sort of abrupt behavior? Dr. Yeardly shook his head, and took out a form to officiate Lucas' resignation.

On his way down to the parking lot, Lucas passed a nurse and two guards with a patient between the three of them. He paid them no attention. It didn't matter anymore. He was looking forward to getting in his car and getting as far away from Arkham as possible. It seemed he would be moving back in with his parents and brother in Maine sooner than he had anticipated.

The patient Lucas had passed seemed exhausted. His black hair fell over his bright blue eyes in thick strands. Dr. Crane tilted his head back slowly to catch a glimpse at one of the clocks mounted on the wall as he was escorted back to an elevator at gunpoint. 5:23. The doctor coughed, his head jerking forward. The straight jacket kept him from covering his mouth, and he thusly hacked on the back of Nurse Robert's neck.

"So sorry about that, Robert…" Dr. Crane said softly.

"No problem." Robert wiped his neck with the side of his hand. A look of disgust ran across his face.

The group continued to walk down the long hallway, past sick areas and offices. They soon reached an area with two elevators. Robert took out a plastic card and swept it through a small slot by the elevator door. Thirty seconds passed, and he soon led the group inside. He made room for Dr. Crane and the two guards. As the elevator doors shut, Dr. Crane leaned back against a grated wall of the elevator. The steroid shots they had given him left him a bit drowsy. He let his head rest against the quaking wall. He looked at the guards on either side of him. A sigh escaped him, soon followed by a yawn. He had been up in the sick area for hours, and was looking forward to a bit of rest later in the day.

When the elevator reached the maximum security level, Robert was first out, soon followed by Dr. Crane, and then by the guards. The triangle made its way down the main corridor. Dr. Crane looked back up at a clock once more. 5:27.

Robert swiped his card. After a few seconds, he heard a clearing buzz. It was easy enough to push the metal door open. Michael was on watch, and shut the door behind the four. The nurse made way down the column of patients. A few were out of bed, and this did not sit well with him.

"Michael, what happened? I'm gone five minutes."

"Lucas said there was a bit of a walkie-talkie problem." Michael shrugged.

"Lucas?" Robert stopped in front of cell number 00018. He unlocked the thick door and held it open for Dr. Crane. The doctor nodded slowly and groggily stepped into his cell. "Who's that again?"

"New guy, has the shift before me."

"Back to the wall, Doc." The guards walked into the cell behind Dr. Crane. Their shotguns were held at ease, but poised for use if needed.

"Remind me to talk to him about my patient's well-being," Robert said as he stepped between the two guards. He began to undo the straps of Dr. Crane's straight jacket.

"Now, you're gonna be good, right Jonathan?" Robert asked sing-songly.

Dr. Crane did not respond, but one of the other patients did.

"Ha." A quick, half-hearted laugh rang through the hallway. Robert sighed and finished freeing Dr. Crane from the white jacket. He stepped out of Dr. Crane's cell. The guards locked up once they were out. Robert looked two cells to the left at cell number 00016.

"I beg your pardon?" He stepped towards the Joker's cell, his arms crossed.

"Oh, I'm sorry." The Joker had been leaning against the door. He turned his eyes to look outside of the slot into the hallway. He looked at Robert and smirked. "I meant to say," the Joker cleared his throat, motioning with one finger for Robert to step closer.

"See I meant, I meant to say, ha. Ha ha. Ah HAHA. HA!" He screamed through the slot. Robert jumped back. Michael marched over to the nurse.

"Something wrong here?" He looked over to the Joker, who put on the quizzical face of a scorned puppy.

"Why no. No not at all. Roland," the Joker wagged a finger lazily at Robert. "Was just telling me about how he cared about his patient's well-being."

"The safety and health of my patients is my number one priori-"

Dr. Crane coughed viciously. It was a quick compulsion, but enough to cut off Robert in mid-sentence. The Joker snorted slightly.

"He seems quite healthy."

Michael interjected. "Alright, that's enough. Thank you Robert," he put his hand on the nurses shoulder, his heading motioning for the door. "We'll let you know if you're needed again. Joker, go lie back down-"

Robert batted Michael's hand off his shoulder. "I just spent the night personally caring for Jonathan and-"

"Did you let him use the restroom?"

"I…what?" Robert blinked. "Did I let him-"

"Dr. Crane?" The Joker called out through the cells. "Dr. Crane?"

In his cell, Crane had yet to get back in bed. He stood by his door, coughing gently into his hand. His head hung limply as he listened to the Joker call out to him. "Yes, sir?"

"Did Roland let you use the restroom?" There was a pause from all parties. No one quite knew what to make of such a question.

Dr. Crane cleared his throat. "Oh yes, Robert was kind enough to let me take a quick break between injections. It was a long night."

"Well, that was just sweet of him, now wasn't it?" The Joker grinned. Robert stared. Michael stared. They both gawked at the Joker, unsure of what to say or do. "See, Roland, I had you all wrong. Here I am, saying you don't give a DAMN," the Joker shook his head in short, quick jerks. "And you're just a little ANGEL now aren't you?" Robert remained still. "Aren't you!" The Joker shouted from behind his door once more.

Robert's beeper went off. "I've gotta go." He shook his head and walked down the hallway. Michael remained in front of the Joker's cell.

"Get back to your bed."

"Certainly." The Joker nodded, still smiling, and took a few steps back.

In his own cell, Dr. Crane stepped back to his bed and sat down. He picked up his pillow, running his fingers along the soft corners. Michael began to turn on his heel.

"Oh, Murray?" The Joker called out the guard.

"It's Michael," he responded softly with a hint of unease.

"Yes, sorry, Michael." He cleared his throat. "Before I get back in bed, no point in sleeping if it's too early, no that'd just throw me off...completely." His words hung in the air, his sentence awaiting completion.

Michael stared at the ground, waiting to be insulted, humiliated. "What?"

"Just a quick little question."

"What?"

"How long till sunrise?" It was the most innocent question. Like one someone would read in an eighteenth century novel by a classic American writer. "How much longer till sunrise?"

Michael looked down at his wrist. "I-" He was quiet.

"What's the matter Michael?" The Joker tilted his head, raising one eyebrow. "Won't your nice little watch let you know what time it is?"

Dr. Crane looked down at the imitation Rolex he pulled out from his pillowcase. "In thirteen second's it'll be 5:45."

The Joker smiled and cracked his neck.

* * *

Sorry everyone, change of plans.


	6. The Great Escape Part I

I would like to sincerely apologize to everyone who took the time to read Early Birds as its own story. After putting it up, I felt weird leaving this as it was. And so, the story shall be continued as one solid block. Thank you so much for understanding. Again, I apologize. Before you read, I barely passed physics/biology. I don't know if many things in this story are physically possible. Just bare with me. It is Batman, after all.

* * *

The walls of Arkham were proud pieces of work. Concrete and steel that would keep some of the most dangerous minds locked away from the general public. Through these walls ran various pipes, electrical systems, and various other complex circuitry. Every last detail made Arkham tick. It was a delicate balance of hard labor and technology.

Within those walls resided Dr. Jonathan Crane and the Joker. They were two of the most notorious criminals in the history of Gotham City. To mention there names was enough to strike sparks, even in the depths of Gotham criminal underbelly. They resided two cells apart in the high security wing of the asylum. Their doors were marked 00016 and 00018. The two most detested cells in Arkham. That morning Michael, one of the guards unfortunate enough to be assigned to the wing.

The Joker stood in his cell, staring at his door. Dr. Crane was on his bed, running Michael's imitation Rolex through his fingers. "Ten seconds till 5:45." The Joker laughed, slowly stepping towards his bed.

Michael looked around nervously. "What's going to happen at 5:45?" He almost sprinted to the Joker's cell. The man continued to laugh, hoisting himself onto his bed. "Joker! What's going to happen at 5:45?"

Dr. Crane sighed, looking intently at the watch. He hugged his knees to his chest. "Three…two…one."

Nothing happened.

All was silent. Every patient had taken on a deathly silence.

"Mm…hn hnnnn…nothing, Murray." The Joker tossed his head back with a bark of laughter. "Not a single thing is happening at 5:45." Michael's hands shivered in rage.

"Dammit, Joker." Michael shook his head and stormed to Dr. Crane's cell. "Alright, just slide the watch to the food latch, Crane."

Dr. Crane tilted his head to the side, staring at the opening in the top of the door. He could see the guard, nervous, on edge. Perfect. "No, Michael, I think it's fine right here." He lowered his eyes, gazing at the face of the watch once more.

Michael bit his bottom lip for a moment. "Crane, slide the watch to the goddamn food latch!" There was a small shake felt by all. It seemed like a tidal wave of fear and anger enveloping the hallway.

"Temper, temper, Michael." He smiled weakly. "You seem to have an unhealthy obsession with this watch. Habitually late? Or do you prefer to be punctual to a fault?"

"Son of a bitch," Michael muttered as he began to unlock the cell door. "Put the watch down, hands up." The doctor obliged. He placed the watch on his pillow to his left. He then cupped his hands over his ears.

Another quake ran through the spine of each patient. Then a sound. A rumble.

"Oh, Murray. I forgot to mention," the Joker called out from his cell. He leaned back against the wall of his cell, closing his eyes slowly. "No, nothing happened at 5:45."

Michael held his gun level with Crane's head when he opened the door. "One more chance. Just toss me the watch." Another low crumble, and what sounded like a snap. The lights of the hallway flickered slightly. Patients looked around in their cells confused. A bit of water dripped down from the ceiling in a few of the cells opposite of the doctor and the clown. Dr. Crane did not move. Michael cocked his gun.

"Nothing at 5:45. However, I forgot to mention 5:47." The Joker put his hands over his ears quickly. He pulled his legs close to his chest.

There was a creaking, groaning sound. Michael had begun to step into Dr. Crane's cell, but stopped at the noise. The guard and the patient stared at each other as a few more drips began to form in the cells behind Michael. "Crane…what the H-"

There was a flash of deafening noise. Whether the burst or the screams came first would never be known. In a flash of liquid lightning, the cells of the patients across the hall were submerged in a swirling chaos of water, concrete, and burst piping. The force of the water blew out the cell doors. The unconscious bodies, some already dead from the impact of the cement, flew with the water against the other side of cells. Dr. Crane's cell door was slammed shut from the impact. Michael flew forward. The door slammed against his back and stunned him. He toppled to the ground at the feet of the mad doctor. The sudden slamming of the door shook the foundation of Dr. Crane's room. The frame cracked like an eggshell. Particles of cement and metal burst forward with great speed.

"AH!" The debris barraged Dr. Crane. The small twangs of pain along his skin were nothing to him. Not compared to the sharp pain the shards caused when they jolted into his exposed eyeballs. "Ah!" Rubbing would only make it worse. He had to stick it out.

Two doors down, the Joker waited until the initial bang was over with. He opened his eyes and looked at the wet mess in front of him. He found his door had been bent quite heavily due to the impact of a stray slab of concrete diving into it. It curved inwards, the lock snapped off in chunks of scrap metal. Water was pouring into his room. The Joker smirked and rose slowly, hardly paying any attention to the doctor's sudden screams of pain. He stuck his head of out the door, looking into the dark, swamped hallway.

The main door had been blockaded by cement and metal. Guards wouldn't be able to get in, but he wouldn't be able to use it as an exit. "Dr. Crane?" There was no response. "Crane!" His voice was impatient, not the least concerned.

His call was met with a moan. The doctor tried to look around, but instead saw a blurred picture of darkness. Crane felt Michael beginning to move beside him. Water was still gushing from the pipes. Patients still trapped within their cells were screaming to get out. The doctor patted his hand around his bed, searching blindly. He felt the guard's side and smiled. He patted along gently until he hit the guard's leather holster. He clumsily took out the pistol.

Michael sputtered. "C-Crane…wha-"

"Shhh…let the doctor work," Crane said softly. He tried to mask his pain. He couldn't see where Michael was looking or what he was doing. He cocked the gun.

The Joker held his breath as he stepped up onto the slab of concrete jutting into his room. He sucked in his stomach, starting to squeeze through the crooked opening. Water continued to pour in over his bare feet. Halfway out of his cell, he heard a gunshot. A scream. The Joker paused for a moment.

"Dr. Crane?" He raised an eyebrow, his smirk remaining. Perhaps this would be easier with one less person to worry about.

"Only a moment" Crane responded lazily. He sounded a bit strained.

The Joker sighed and continued to inch his way out from the cell. Between the screams of inmates, he could hear guards banging at the door. After contorting himself, he was able to slip free. He almost fell into the water and debris, but managed to catch his footing. The wet cement and wires agitated his bare feet as he sloshed his way towards Crane's cell. He stepped over a few bodies, and on a few.

"Murray in there with you?" he sang out as he lightly approached Dr. Crane's cell.

"Oh, yes."

"I…oh God…" was all Michael could manage to say with a wet hack.

"Damn," the doctor cursed under his breath.

The Joker stepped onto the stray door and looked into Crane's cell. He could make out the figure of the doctor, as well as one on the ground. The one on the ground was rolling about in the water, holding its side. The Joker shook his head and stepped off of the door. There was an arm sticking out underneath the metal colossus. He bent over and tried to get a grip on the slippery limb. He pulled the arm upwards and pushed it forward, managing to slide the door off and to the side with a great deal of effort. Behind the hall door, the guards continued to wail, calling for back up on their walkie-talkies.

Dr. Crane coughed and winced. His eyes burned and itched. There was no time to stop by an eyewash station just yet. The Joker heaved the body on top of the stray door. His legs were submerged in a good foot of water. The door, like his, was bent inwards, only the lock was still intact. It took him a moment, his fingers wet, but he managed to get the door open. The cell flood with water.

"Ha!" The Joker clapped when he saw Michael, half-submerged, gripping his bleeding shoulder. "Ah haha ha!"

"Oh God, please no."

"Doctor, doctor." The Joker sloshed his way over to the bed. He smacked Crane's shoulder. The doctor coughed and moved aside. The Joker sat down and rested his chin in one hand. He stared at the groaning Michael for a moment, smiling, laughing softly. He shook his head, his smile quickly leaving. He stood up quickly and kicked Michael's shoulder swiftly. The guard cried out in agony. The Joker began to cackle, kicking and stomping the shoulder.

The semi-blinded doctor rose steadily, the gun still in hand. "My office is one floor up." He motioned to the row of destroyed cells across from them. "Shouldn't be too hard with the damage." He coughed softly.

The Joker, panting, beginning to sweat, nodded. He barked a laugh once more down at Michael. He looked to the unmoved Crane, noticing a bit of blood dripping down his cheeks. He put one hand on the doctor's shoulder. "Come on, Dr. Crane."

He began to lead Crane out of the cell, not bothering to tell him about stray shards of concrete or bodies he could trip over. Once he had the doctor out, he snapped his fingers.

"Oh shoot. I ALMOST forgot…" he reach down and took the gun from Dr. Crane. "Pardon me." Without a moment's hesitation, he turned and shot Michael through his temple. He shook his head. "I hate guns. Come on." He tucked the gun into his scrubs before continuing his trek.

He almost dragged Dr. Crane behind him over the mounds of wreckage and death. Crane stumbled about, completely blinded. They walked past a few cells, the Joker looking in and checking out the ceilings. One was almost completely caved in. Without speaking he pulled the doctor in with him. He stood on top of the bed, grabbing Crane by the collar and yanking him upwards.

"Ah-" the doctor cringed, his body still aching from the shots. The Joker rolled his eyes and looked upwards. The opening in the ceiling was wide, a few loose wires and busted pipes visible. The Joker grabbed the doctor's arms quickly. He put them around his waist. He raised his arms and looked at the doctor's bloody face.

"Well?" he asked Dr. Crane impatiently.

The doctor raised an eyebrow. "I'm…not too certain I understand where you're goi-"

The Joker smacked his lips. "Lift…me up." The Joker stretched his arms upwards, wiggling his fingers. "I can't reach."

Crane hesitated and took a moment before he got his best footing on the wobbly mattress. He tightened his grip on the Joker. With a short heave he lifted the clown, getting him a good foot and a half upwards. The Joker touched one of the pipes with the back of his hand. It wasn't hot. He tapped one it quickly. It was empty. He gripped the metal in his hands, jerking quickly. It was loose. All of those were very good qualities.

"Alright, now just…let go…LET GO!" The doctor obliged, taking his arms off of the Joker. The Joker gripped onto the pipe, and began to swing himself quickly.

One floor above, guards were beginning to seal off the area. No one was permitted to enter or exit the building, that included all interns, nurses, doctors, staff, and guards. Dr. Renolds wasn't due for work until 10:00 that day. However, in his office, things were already stirring at 6:00. In the middle of his floor, a tile seemed to jump the slightest bit. It quivered and jiggled. Finally it cracked. A pipe burst through, crumbling the tile. The pipe was withdrawn, and shoved through the foot by foot tile once more. The same thing happened to the four tiles around it. It was a process that took a good ten minutes, and the Joker's strength and temper were wearing thin by the end of it. Dr. Crane's back wasn't in much better shape.

Finally, the Joker succeeded. The hole was large enough for him to fit through. Just as Dr. Crane's legs and arms were beginning to shake from holding up his conspirator, the Joker dropped the pipe and grabbed onto one side of the opening and hoisted himself up, using Dr. Crane's shoulder as a support. Crane grunted, grabbing onto the Joker's leg and shoving him upwards.

The clown pulled himself into Dr. Renolds' office. He crawled on the floor for a moment before sitting up, his legs hanging down through the hole. He stood up slowly, his wet feet sopping on the tile. He cracked his neck and looked to the door with the blind-covered glass. No shadows, which meant it was basically smooth from there out. He began to walk towards the door. Then he stopped.

It pained him, but he couldn't get out without Crane. The Joker sneered and cursed himself inwardly.

"Joker?" The blind doctor tilted his head back. There was no response. He was helpless. He knew that the Joker was the sort of person to leave you. Before he began to yell, the doctor was surprised by a loud crashing on the bed. He leaned over to feel what the Joker had just thrown down. A swivel chair.

The doctor coughed shrilly as he propped up the chair as best he could. He was either going to break his neck from the fall or break the Joker's neck when he got up there. The sightless man, doing his best to not shake, put one bare foot on the seat. He held on to the back of the chair, and brought his other foot up. He slowly brought himself up, raising his hands for balance. He raised one arm, fondling around to find the escape.

The Joker grew impatient with Crane's blind searching. He crouched down and reached for the doctor's arm. He grabbed on with both hands, falling back to pull Crane up.

"Alright, doc…" The Joker wiped his forehead with the back of his hand as the blind man turned on his side on the floor. "Give me some good news. Make me smile."

Crane was breathing heavily. Though being sick gave way to the plan, it didn't help him with the execution. "My office…we need to get to my office. What room are we in?" The Joker stood up slowly, as though they weren't in the middle of breaking out of a high security mental ward. He looked at the desk and picked up the name plaque.

"Dr. Richard Renolds." He smirked.

"Oh…good." Crane sat up. "My office," he said it as though he was still employed. "Is three doors down to the right." The Joker took the gun out from his scrubs and grabbed Crane by the shirt. He hoisted the doctor up and lead him to the door. The Joker peered out of the blinds for a second. There was one guard to their right.

The Joker quickly opened the door and shot the guard point-blank. He went down with a thud. The Joker quickly pulled the gun out from the dead man's holster and put in it where he had stowed the other. The tell-tale static of a walkie-talkie started up not too far away.

"You'll get fifty people up he-"

The Joker grabbed Crane's arm and pulled him along behind him. He quickly went to the right, reading the doors. Dr. Hartman, Dr. Robertson, Dr. Quinzel. He stopped.

"Three to the right."

"Did you miscount?"

The Joker squeezed Crane's arm, digging his nails into him.

"Ah-" the doctor winced. "So violent. Were you abused as a child?"

The Joker licked his lower lip quickly before slamming Crane into Dr. Quinzel's door. He held his head against the glass, right next to the lettering. The Joker shouted into his ear. "Does that LOOK like Dr. Crane!" It didn't matter that the doctor's eyes were still covered in dust and rendered useless. The Joker expected an answer that wouldn't lead him to kill him.

"I-it's the same room…" blood dripped on the glass window. The doctor struggled momentarily before the Joker let go of him. Crane rubbed the side of his head softly. The Joker pulled him away from the door and shattered the glass with one of his revolvers.

The Joker and Dr. Crane slowly stepped into Dr. Quinzel's office. Footsteps were becoming audible. "Hurry," was all that was said between them. Dr. Crane got on his knees and began feeling around the tiles. The Joker watched him feel about, only somewhat interested. The doctor finally found a tile with a lump in it about the size of a small rock. He gripped onto the lump blindly and pulled upwards. The tile lifted, two others attached to it. Under the tiles was a small wooden box. The doctor pulled out the box and opened it carefully. He couldn't see, but he knew what was in their. It had been there as a spare for safe keeping before he was fired from Arkham. Dr. Crane strapped the fear toxin emitting device on his arm like he could see it clear as day. It felt right. He took just enough time to savor that cold, chaotic metal on his arm before he went on. Dr. Crane smiled and reached back into the box. He pulled out a small burlap sack, holes cutout for eyes, a mouth sewn together. Dr. Crane slid the mask on over his head. He didn't have to see to know what he looked like.

Scarecrow stood up slowly. He cracked his neck before turning to where he supposed the Joker was. The darkness felt much more welcoming with his mask. "Shall we then?"


	7. The Great Escape Part II

Three ambulances were already parked on the street in front of Arkham. Paramedics were at the ready with stretchers once they were allowed inside the building. Police arrived minutes after they were called. They had been alerted that two patients were suspected to be on the loose, and could possibly escape. At mention of the Joker and Scarecrow, Commissioner Gordon got a migraine the likes of which few would ever experience. He sent out a small army of police officers and called in a SWAT team. Every available man would be needed for the task at hand.

Gunfire and screams filled the hallways of the asylum. It broke the somber silence of the morning. Police grabbed their weapons, storming up the concrete stairs leading to the building. SWAT members got to position. They were prepared for anything that came their way. These men were trained to face unimaginable situations. They could handle any obstacle. Save for what they saw through the glass double-doors of the Arkham entrance. The screaming came first. The blood-curdling cries of anguish and terror. And then they saw the sources of the cries.

Guards were running through the main hallway. Staff members were clawing at the walls. Patients were being trampled, scrambling to get out of the building. The doors flew open, and the people of Arkham flooded out in a sea of terror and chaos. It was an absolute frenzy. The group trampled over the officers, determined to run to safety from whatever insane hallucinations they were experiencing. From within the mob came a gunshot. A terrified guard fell to the ground. And then came a laugh. A loud, bone-chilling laugh.

The Joker had his gun out, shooting whoever was in his way at the moment. With his other arm he dragged along the blind Scarecrow. Fear toxin swirled through the air, leaving a trail of inexorable terror. A few bullets whizzed past the Joker. He jumped for a moment at the noise, but looked about with a smile. He called out above the screaming.

"Good morning officers! Looks like lovely weather ahead!" He fired his gun once more, the bullet blasting through the back of Dr. Yeardly's head. The man toppled down. The Joker used him as a stepping stone, almost tripping the Scarecrow in the process. To fire at the Joker or Scarecrow would be like aiming for a single feather on a raven. So long as the duo were within the confines of the horrified mob, they were safe. All the able-bodied officers and SWAT members could do would be to try and separate the mob until they could fish out the madmen.

The Joker started heading towards one of the ambulances. He shot Susan, the redheaded paramedic, twice in the stomach. He would have shot her once more had he not run out of bullets. He tossed his weapon aside, paying no attention to the flailing doctor he was dragging along the ground. The Scarecrow, almost choking from his current position, grabbed onto the Joker's arm. He wouldn't be able to disperse the toxin, but he wouldn't be strangled by his shirt collar either. At the time, it seemed like a fair trade. He coughed sharply, trying to push himself along. Scarecrow listened to the screams coming from all directions. It was truly euphoric.

"La la, rat tat tat la la," the Joker half-skipped, wobbling with the weight of Scarecrow's body. He pulled the other gun out from the back of his scrubs as he made his way to the drivers side of the ambulance. It was ready to go. The Joker had not noticed that the crowd around himself and the Scarecrow had thinned out and run in opposite direction. However, Officer Ellis noticed. The officer had been thrown onto the ground by the mad mob. His left arm was broken, as were three of his ribs. That didn't stop him from holding his gun at the ready. He was only two yards away from the escaping men.

"Easy does it," the Joker said as he pulled up the Scarecrow. He put his arm around Scarecrow's shoulders, guiding him roughly to the ambulance door. He began to shove the Scarecrow up into the seat.

"I've got-" the Scarecrow's words were cut off by a gunshot. There was a loud scream. It was close. Very close. He jumped into the seat in a panic. His adrenaline was rushing, and he loved it.

"Ah!" The Joker's knee jerked forward. His breath quickened when he saw the blood coming from his left thigh. He raised his gun, looking back for the source of the fire. Before he was able to retaliate, a second shot landed in his right kneecap. He fell backwards against the seat of the ambulance. His legs were like moldy bread.

"Would you hurry up?" Scarecrow reached out one arm, feeling around for the Joker.

The Joker licked his lips before shooting Officer Ellis's neck. The Joker dropped his gun and hoisted himself into the driver's seat. He was able to slide in on his side. He grabbed the Scarecrow's left leg.

"Wh-" the Scarecrow jerked back slightly as he was dragged out of the passenger's seat.

"Just hold your foot down!" With that, he pulled Scarecrow's leg under the steering wheel. The doctor, not wanting to get shot just yet, slammed his foot down. He hit the pedal, and the ambulance shot forward. The Joker turned the steering wheel quickly. They sped down the street. The Joker pulled on the steering wheel, trying to prop himself up. He looked up at a small panel and switched on the siren. Equipment was flying out of the back of the vehicle, strewn into oncoming traffic. The pair was tossed about with each sharp turn the ambulance made through the streets. Cars cleared the way quickly. The Joker laughed deeply. He was bleeding, his legs were useless, and he wasn't sure how much blood he could lose before he died. The Scarecrow was blind, and the Joker wasn't sure if it was temporary or permanent. The police would know the license plate and track them down easily if they stayed in the ambulance for too long. His blood was racing and leaking out of his bullet wounds. It was a rush he reveled in.

"I know…" the Scarecrow coughed. His foot had only been slammed down for a few seconds and was already tired. He was on the bottom of the vehicle, leaning back against the passenger's seat. "I know a place…Batman…he leaves it alone…Didi's…"

"On the road again, just can't wait to be on the road again," the Joker sang with a cackle. He through his head back in a howling laugh as they whizzed through the streets of Gotham City.


	8. Didi's Dollar Diner

Brace yourself for exposition.

* * *

Didi's Dollar Diner of Gotham City was founded by Dorothy "Didi" Masterson in 1956. A native of Gotham City, Didi grew up with a strong sense of community. From an early age she had an eye for business. Along with her younger brother, David, she ran D&D's Lemonade Stand in the summer of 1965. Everyone knew Didi was an entrepreneur by nature. In high school she made extra money by running a bake sale division in her school's culinary club. In college, she majored in business management and minored in finances. After graduating, she married her high school sweetheart, Andrew Winston. Together they opened Didi's Dollar Diner. It was a shining family business amongst the hustle and bustle of Gotham's big-name chain restaurants. Didi and Andrew took up residence in the small apartment above the diner. Everyday since 1978, even on Christmas and New Year's, Didi and Andrew served a warm meal and a warm heart to anyone in Gotham with an empty stomach and spare change. Prices were low, spirits were high.

Didi and Andrew Winston were found dead in 1999. Andrew was found behind the counter of the diner. The entry wound was in his forehead, the exit wound was in the back of his skull. Didi was in the kitchen, a few plates shattered around her. She had been shot twice in her sternum, once in her neck. There were no suspects. The diner was shut down. With no heirs, the building was put up for sale. After various mob gatherings in the area, lack of interest left the building an open field. The building was soon bought and renovated by Eddie "Pops" Roy, businessman and pimp.

Under Pops' management, Didi's served three purposes. First, it once more became a place to get cheap food, only it was more of a last resort. The general public could come and go as they pleased, though clientele was usually limited to gang members and escaped convicts. Pops was a strict man, and wouldn't tolerate foolishness. Guns were checked at the door.

Pops had three employees, all women ranging in age, race, and experience. They gave way to Didi's second function. While Pops worked the front, two of the girls would be cooking back in the hazardous kitchen. In shifts, they would take a gentleman upstairs for tips. The youngest of the three was Anna Murdock. She had been working for Pops since she was legal. She was the best cook of the bunch, also a customer favorite. She was a pretty girl with pale skin, red hair, and freckles. Her petite build gave her an air of innocence. Her mother left when she was younger. Her father was shot to death outside of Pops' when she was seventeen. Pops took her in under his wing, and the other two ladies looked out for her. The second oldest woman, a strong twenty-two, was Kelly Smittson. She was a beautiful black woman with long eyelashes and a dazzling smile. She couldn't cook to save her life, but she knew how to treat men upstairs. She was Anna's best friend in the world, and was always there when she needed her. Unless it was after a busy night of work, of course.

The oldest of the group, Reese Roy, was Pops' divorcee. They were engaged for a second time in an on-again, off-again love-hate relationship. She was in her early thirties. Her eyes were dark blue, her hair light brown. She had crooked teeth and a nose that had been broken a few times. Though she could cook and show men a good time, Reese mostly helped Pops with Didi's third use. Whenever a customer came in the back entrance bleeding, dragged by a friend, or missing a finger, Reese helped Pops patch them up on one of the kitchen tables. If it was a repeat customer, or if they were injured badly enough, Reese and Roy would offer up their room upstairs. It wasn't for public use. Though they would have to live with the noise in the next room, it was better than dying in the streets.

A block from Arkham, the Joker and Scarecrow slammed into a coupe. It was an ordeal for them, but they managed to crawl out of the ambulance, get the driver out, and take the car. Scarecrow sat in the driver's seat this time while Joker leaned over and steered. His legs ached, but it didn't matter. It just added to the fun.

"It's in-"

"I know, I know, I know." the Joker said as he swerved along. His blood continued to leak onto the car's interior. "I know…where Didi's is. I know where it is." Between his blood loss and Scarecrow's blindness and disease, they looked like stumbling fools when they got out to take their next car. It was a Jeep. The Joker shot the driver and they climbed in over him. Each block they were getting closer, but Didi's was still far away.

The hostage crisis had Batman preoccupied, and Gordon had no way of relaying the Joker and Scarecrow situation to him.

Didi's didn't open until 8:30 in the morning. It gave the girls a chance to wake up in their rat-infested apartments in the Narrows. Reese resided upstairs in the non-business bedroom with Pops. He was usually up around 6:00 to get things set up. Reese enjoyed sleeping until she was needed.

When there was a knock at the back door of the kitchen, Pops knew he was going to need his fiancé. "Babe!" he called up the stairway to the apartment. He ran to the backdoor, his gun in his pocket if he had to use it. He had seen plenty of bizarre injuries in his fifty years of life. His hair had turned white from seeing some of the guys he grew up with bleeding from the neck. But Pops was not prepared for what awaited him behind the door. He opened it slowly, and his eyes widened.

"Jesus Christ…" he muttered in a thick north eastern accent. At the stoop stood none other than the Scarecrow. Leaning against him, wincing in pain was the Joker. Though he didn't have his makeup on, Pops would know those scars anywhere. He looked the men up and down, nodding when he saw the blood covering the Joker's hospital pants. Pops stepped back motioning to a metal table against the wall across from the stove.

The Joker rolled his eyes. "Crane, left." Pops grabbed onto the other side of the Joker, guiding the blind and wounded man towards the table. He propped the Joker beside the table as he quickly went to the cabinet and pulled out a box. He took out a disinfectant spray and wet the table. He wiped it down with a clean white cloth and hoisted the Joker upwards.

"Hey, Crane. Arm thing. Take it off." Once they managed to get the bloodied Joker on the table, the Scarecrow sighed and unlatched his fear toxin device. Pops took the contraption and set it down on the counter. The Scarecrow took off his mask. His cheeks were covered in blood, his eyes bright red.

Pops shook his head. "Jesus, Crane, what happened?" He pulled a pair of latex gloves from the box.

"Occupational hazard." The doctor cracked his neck.

"Hey, Reese, get down here! It's yer boyfriend!" Upstairs Reese had been taking her time getting ready. She was in a short skirt and a bra before Pops said anything about her boyfriend. It sparked her curiosity. She slid into her fuzzy slippers and bathrobe before heading down the stairs into the kitchen. She had on no makeup and her hair was a mess. She was in no mood for surprises, but that is just what she got when she rounded the corner into the kitchen.

She stared at them men for a moment, speechless. "Oh…oh my God, what happ-"

"Reese, get the stuff from tha fridge…now!" Pops shouted out as he pulled out a pair of scissors. Reese nodded and went to the giant metal fridge in the corner of the room. She pulled out a bottle of two-dollar champagne and headed over to the table. She popped the cork off and held it to the Joker's mouth.

"Open wide, sugar," she said quickly. The Joker slowly opened his mouth, his yellow teeth revealed under his curled lips, and bit down on the cork once she place it between his molars. "What type are you?"

The Joker paused for a moment. Everyone but Scarecrow looked at him. "O neg it is then," she said with a sigh. Reese took a swig of the champagne before going back to the fridge. It was filled with packets of donated blood. She took out a pack of O Negative and went over to the storage closet. Between boxes of dried food and Shake and Bake were medical devices that had been commandeered during the hospital scare. She began to set up for the Joker's blood transfusion.

"Now, Jokes, this is gonna hurt a lot." Pops slowly cut along the side of the Joker's pants. He slid off the cloth, and took a quick look at the bullet wounds. "Reese get him set up real quick."

Pops took off his gloves and went up front quickly. He got on the phone and called up Kelly. "Hey, it's Pops. We need ya down here." That was all he had to say.

The next hour and a half was grueling. The Joker bit down on the cork and cackled in sheer agony as bullets were extracted and bone was mended with non-toxic superglue. Kelly had arrived within minutes of the call, and was at work cleaning out the Scarecrow's eyes. "Baby, you gotta be more careful. You just scratched up a bit, prolly be able to see in a week or so, but damn, boy." As he was leaned over the kitchen sink, Scarecrow listened to the Joker's spastic laughter. It was the laugh of a hyena. And, contrary to popular belief, hyenas only laughed if they were afraid. It was the most intoxicating noise the doctor had ever heard. The small shards of metal and bits of concrete washed down the drain. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, his eyelids were scratched up a bit, but he would recover. Only half of him wanted the same for the Joker. The rest was content to here the man scream.


	9. Water And Gauze

Side Note: I changed Papa to Pops. Sorry, I uploaded the wrong chapter before.

* * *

At 8:00, Anna stepped out of the cab in front of Didi's Dollar Diner. Weekdays were always slow as far as the upstairs was concerned. She knew she'd at least be able to relax a bit in the kitchen. Pops liked her getting to work early to help tidy up before the diner opened. Her red hair was up in a pony tail, tresses framing her freckled face. Her jean skirt barely served it's purpose as she walked up the sidewalk. The door was locked. She took a moment to rummage through her black purse. Anna pulled out her cellphone, a cheap thing that looked like it came from a crane machine, and hit the speed dial.

The phone went off inside the diner. "Kelly, get it will ya?" Pops called over his shoulder. He was up to his elbows in blood, and Reese was busy holding down the Joker's shoulders.

"Mhm," Kelly pat the Scarecrow on the back. "Keep rinsin, baby." She made her way out from the kitchen to the front of the diner. "I'm comin, I'm comin," she said harshly. Kelly picked up the phone.

"Didi's Dollar Diner. What do ya want?"

"Kelly, it's Anna. Um…I'm locked out."

Kelly rolled her eyes and hung up. "Dammit, Pops, ya busy bastard…" she unlocked the door and opened it quickly. Laughter and a scream poured from the kitchen. Anna looked worried.

"Is everythin-"

"Come on, baby, got something goin on in the back." She pulled Anna in like a mother and locked the door behind her. "Got two guys. One's shot, one's blind. Blind one's alright," she waved a finger behind her for Anna to follow her. "The one that got shot up keeps flailing. Crazy bastard, if ya ask me."

Anna put her purse on the counter and followed Kelly through the swinging doors to the kitchen. The small girl couldn't bring herself to look over at the operating table. She paused when she saw the man crouched over the sink. He had been in there before. "Um…Scarecrow, right?"

The man splashing water into his eyes paused for a moment. He smiled and listened to the water hitting the metal sink. It was so much more satisfying to hear that than "Dr. Crane." He nodded and coughed softly before splashing more water in his face. A thud came from across the room. Anna looked over quickly. Blood spurted from the man's leg.

"AHAA!" The Joker's back arched, a pool of blood forming underneath him.

"Anna, get over here, hold him down," Pops ordered. Anna nodded and rushed over to the Joker's side. Reese had his shoulders down. Pops had glued together the opening in the Joker's thigh. He was sewing up the wound, a twang of pain thrust through the Joker with each puncture. The agony only made the Joker giggle.

"Get his middle, A-" the Joker flailed again, laughing and biting down on the champagne cork. Anna jumped up onto the table and eased herself over the Joker. Her legs hung off one side of the table, she held onto the other side for dear life. It was like trying to hold onto a bull-shark.

"I meant just hold him down, Anna, but that works too," Reese smirked at the kid's enthusiasm.

"Just one more small stitch," Pops said. He had managed to finish off the knee with surprisingly little trouble. The bullet had lodged just about the kneecap. It was easy enough to retrieve. The bone was pieced back together with tweezers and held together with glue. However, the bullet had entered and exited the Joker's thigh. That's where most of the blood had gushed out. It took a good while to stop the bleeding, but it wasn't impossible. The Joker would be able to function without that bit of muscle, and Pops knew this was a man who didn't care about pain.

After the final stitch, the Joker spit the cork out onto the table. A grin crawled across his face. The thread was cut and tied off.

"A success. That transfusion's gonna keep ya goin, Jokes," Pops said with a smirk. It was one of his cleanest jobs yet. Blood had splattered across his clothes and face. The same went for Reese. They were droplets at best. However, in her attempt at assistance, Anna's stomach had become doused in blood.

"Here ya go, Anna," Pops helped the moderately-traumatized Anna off of the half-naked, bloody Joker. Kelly had gotten gauze from the storage area. She tossed a roll to Pops and brought one over to Scarecrow.

"Y'all look nasty," she said to the surgical group. "This way doc," Kelly said to Crane. He turned his head towards the woman, his face wet, his eyes cleaned out. "You gonna have to keep this one for two or threes days to keep everything outta yo eyes."

"I must say, this place has gotten more professional since the last time I was here." He smiled as she gently pressed the gauze to his eyes.

"Yeah, well, if you were a bit more professional, you wouldn't be have to be here at all, doc." Kelly sighed and wrapped the bandage around his head a few times before tying it off in the back.

Reese had begun bandaging the Joker's legs. "Anna, you go on and take a coat. Go home and clean yourself up. Take the day off." Pops went to retaliate. "Up up! Anna, just go on home, and take the day off, alright?"

Anna nodded slowly. She went to the storage closet and grabbed a coat someone had left behind years before. She zipped it up. It looked more like a dress on her. Her eyes unblinking, she grabbed her purse in the front and headed out to hail a cab.

"Kelly," Pops said as he through his gloves away. "Would you go upstairs and fetch these gentlemen some new clothes. Just lay them out on the couch in the den." He looked to Crane. "Perhaps a nice suit for the doctor? And you," he looked down at the half-conscious Joker. "Do you have a preference?" he asked half-heartedly.

"Ya know…I really like purple…" He closed his eyes, taking a nice long breath. "Good color. Strong color. Don't you agree, Reese?"

"I don't care for purple," she responded as she taped up one of the bandages.

"No, no you don't, do you?" He opened his eyes and curled his lip. "You don't like purple at all." He narrowed his eyes. The look he gave her said that she slapped him. That untrustworthy conniving shrew of a woman.

"Do I sense a note of hostility?" Scarecrow asked out to the room, not sure where to direct his question.

"Mhm." Kelly nodded and headed upstairs. "Suit and somethin' purple, got it." She headed out the kitchen and up the stairs. Reese began to bandage the second bullet wound. Pops looked from one mad man to the other.

"You can take our room upstairs," he said nonchalantly. "Hot shower, working plumbing. You guys can take it fer a while. At least till Dorothy's little friend here can see again." Reese sighed and tied off the bandage quickly. "Oh, come on Reese," Pops put his bloody arm around her waist. "We can take the sofa-bed. It'll bring us together…aw, damn, almost forgot." Pops let go of the slightly disgusted Reese and went to the storage closet. He stood in there for a few minutes, swearing. There was a crash and a thud, then a quick blaspheming phrase. Pops came out with an antique wheelchair.

"Those legs aren't gonna be much good for a while." He set the chair up next to the table. "We'll help ya get up there, but no point in trying to get down…unless you enjoy breaking your neck. In which case, be my guest."

Kelly emerged with a purple and blue plaid shirt and a bright purple satin blouse. "Which one?" She held them up and the Joker craned his neck.

"Satin." Even he had taste. Kelly nodded and headed back upstairs.

Reese began to storm after her, her robe flipping about. Pops caught her arm. "Now, baby, come on. It's just for a little whi-"

"I'm gonna go stay with Kelly."

Pops shook his head, stunned. "What?"

Kelly stopped halfway up the stairs. "Yeah, what?"

"I just…I'd rather stay with Kelly." Reese looked Pops in the eyes. "Come on, it's just for a little while." She glared, and the man crumbled.

"Yeah alright. Just keep working." He let go of her arm roughly.

"Trouble in parad-"

"Shut the hell up, Jokes."

"Well, there's no need to snap." The Joker smiled and leaned his head back.

Pops sighed and looked once more at the madmen. One sat like a blind harbinger of fear, the other bloody and spread across the deli table. He was too old for this sort of thing.

"You guys hungry?"


	10. Breakfast In Bed

December 28, 2005.

Gotham city was covered in a thin sheet of clean white snow. The air was crisp, unbroken by the approaching dawn. The streets glistened with ice. Fires burned in trash cans surrounded by the homeless. The world was peaceful in those few moments. Those few moments of fluttering snowflakes and crackling fire. No screams or sirens rang through the air in those moments before the sun showed its face. The air swirled slowly, the collective emotion of every person in Gotham City gathered in that wind and glided through the streets and alleyways.

Inside Didi's Dollar Diner, only Pops was up and about. It had been a bizarre few months for his establishment. Earlier that year he was visited by that doctor. That man with the burlap sack. Crane. Scarecrow. Pops knew him because he's the man that refused to see Reese after she told him she was over her arachnophobia. Scarecrow had come in, twitching, rambling on about the Batman. Someone had taken a taser to him. They kept the doctor upstairs until his head cleared. Kelly looked after him, for the most part. Unlike most of the male clients, the doctor wasn't interested in her body at all. He was only interested in her fears.

That snowy day a new form of terror blew in with the wind. Just at daybreak there was a knock at the back door in the kitchen. A sure sign of trouble. "Hey, Reese, get down here," he called up to his wife. Upstairs the woman took her time, trying to find a nice dress to throw on for the injured company. Pops opened the back door slowly, peering through an opened inch. Before him was a true wreck. A kid, not even out of his twenties, stood there, bleeding. It wasn't the bleeding that stuck out to him, that was natural. It wasn't the purple button-up shirt, or the green hair. It was the kid's smile, which was very unnatural.

He remember that morning because the kid spurted blood every time he spoke. He kept complaining about his arm. It was busted in two places. The bone stuck out near the elbow. Every few sentences he would laugh. Laugh at his pain. Laugh at the trouble Pops and his half-dressed wife were going through to make sure his arm would heal up properly. He told them not to touch his face. He almost begged them not to touch his face. After they set his arm, Reese took a damp cloth and brought it up to his cheek.

And then the kid laughed and broke her nose.

* * *

It wasn't even 10:00 that day, and the Joker was bored out of his skull. Sure, it had been a bit of an adventure escaping from the asylum, and it tickled him to watch his legs get hacked to bits and dissected. But something was missing. He felt empty. The Joker laid down on Pops' and Reese's waterbed. He had to admit, he was a bit afraid to get underneath the covers. He settled on top of the comforter, staring at the ceiling. If he didn't want his legs to be rendered useless, he was bed ridden for the next few days. He looked around. Red walls, warm air, fancy decorations, boxes that were too small to put anything in. There were two full-length mirrors, one against the wall beside the bad, and one beside the door. He could see himself in the mirror, bobbing up and down on the waterbed. He floated along like a wrecked, shiny purple ship in his satin shirt and baggy jeans. It may have only been temporary, but the room would truly drive him insane. It was a grotesque representation of everything that was wrong with Gotham City. He wanted to burn the room to a crispy ash and watch it blow away in the wind.

In the adjoining bathroom, the blind doctor slid and thudded around in the tub, trying desperately to clean himself up. The Joker snorted.

"Doctor? Do you need any help there doctor?" he called out in a flighty tone.

A cold silence served as Dr. Crane's answer. The Joker sighed and rolled onto his side, waves coursing through the bed. The digital clock read 9:47. At least he knew what time it was. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He slowly moved his hands together and brought them up under his chin. "Dear Lord," he said in a soft, quiet voice. "Thank you for letting me…get RID of those people…those people earlier and escape Arkham in the process. Please help the Batman keep me entertained, and let Dr. Crane stop coughing so I don't waste energy strangling him. Please let the bread be better at Arkham when I get back. Amen."

The pipes creaked as the water shut off, and the Joker half-expected the walls to explode with liquid. He smiled. That would have been quite ironic. A few rustling sounds came from within the bathroom as Crane struggled to get dressed. After a minute there was silence.

"Crane, say something. Move if you're alive in there." With any luck, there wouldn't be a sound. The Joker rolled his eyes when the bathroom door opened. Out came the good doctor, his bandage soggy, hair dripping on his face. He had on a white shirt two sizes too big for him. He had a pair of khaki slacks that belong to Pops.

"Where's the," Crane coughed into his hand. "Where's the bed?"

"You don't get the bed." The Joker replied as though it were a fact of nature.

"Now," Crane began to use his professional voice. "That's the sort of selfish attitude that can drive a person to commit horrendous acts against his fellow man."

"I'm crippled," the Joker replied. It really didn't make a difference. The Joker would get the bed even if he were in peak physical condition.

"I'm sick. You are cold enough," he coughed once more. "You are cold enough to deny a sick man comfort?" From his calm composure, you'd know he didn't give a real care if he were sick. Not so long as he was clean.

"I…get…the bed."

"You still deny me, even though I can't see." The doctor tilted his head towards where he supposed the Joker was. He hoped that the Joker was every bit as selfish as he thought he was. He needed this man to be without compassion. He needed him to be every bit as heartless as he imagined. He needed this incarnate of fear to be without weakness.

"I've noticed." He turned his head towards Crane. "So you didn't see that I've killed, oh, let's say, three…yes three…clinical workers within the past four hours. I honestly don't SEE how one more would make a difference." The Joker rolled over and raised an eyebrow. Water sloshed around him. "Do you?"

The doctor was silent. That one threat. It was invigorating. It was precisely what he wanted to hear. The Joker was the only person that could scare him anymore. He smiled with a shit-eating grin that only professionals can channel. "I suppose, fair is fair."

"Justice is blind," the Joker smirked. "And so are you." He wanted to kill the doctor. He wanted to take a knife and slash his throat from ear to ear. He wanted to feel his blade tremble the slightest bit as it ripped through his flesh. He wanted to watch the man flail on the ground in a puddle of his own blood. He wanted to see the color drain out of his bright blue eyes. But at the moment, he was restricted beyond his control. And all he could do was visualize that sweet victory.

There was a quick knock at the door. "Ey. Got you guys some breakfast."

"Do come in, Kelly." The doctor's grin turned to an uncomfortably polite smile. Kelly entered with a tray perfectly balanced on her shoulder.

"I'm just gonna…set it down…and leave you two be." She slowly made her way over to the table by the bed. She wished the table wasn't right beside the Joker. She could feel the men staring at her. Even behind gauze she could feel the eyes of terror beaming on her from Dr. Crane. He knew what scared her. She was almost afraid to move. Alone in the room with those two. Her posture was purposely upright, unnatural and frigid. She set the tray on the table. Two glasses of orange juice, grilled cheese and bacon sandwiches, grapes, napkins, and scrambled eggs.

"That's that, then." Kelly straightened herself up. As she turned the Joker grabbed her wrist. His grip was tight, just the tiniest bit away from being painful.

She pursed her lips. Her eyes widened. "Lemme-"

"I just wanted…" he twisted her wrist ever so slightly. "To say thank you, Kelly. I just wanted to thank you." He stared at her, his eyes narrowed, his smile broad. Kelly shook, not able to meet his eyes. "Do you have any makeup, Kelly?"

"I…what?"

"Makeup. Do you have any makeup here, Kelly?" he asked once more. Dr. Crane smiled, feeling the tension build in the room.

"I…yeah…yeah we got some…what do you-"

"The makeup is all I need." With that, the Joker released her wrist. He wiped his hands together and watched Kelly back away slowly. This was clearly a woman who had dealt with rough men before. Once she shut the door, the Joker pulled himself up. He put the tray on the middle of the bed and picked up one of the sandwiches.

"Now, are you going to deny a helpless man such as myself food?"

The Joker smacked his lips and sighed. "Oh no, of course not, sweety." He picked up some of the grapes and hurled the at Crane, who recoiled slightly at the sudden projectiles.

"Joker, please be reasonable-" his voice was that of a teacher speaking to an unruly student.

"Reasonable? You ask me for food! Do you really want some food, doctor!" The Joker threw his sandwich at the man. Crane managed to bat it away. The toasted food fell to the ground.

"There!" The Joker's voice dropped an octave. "There's your food!" He grabbed the plate of eggs and hurled it at the doctor. The yellow mush hit the wall and slid to the ground.

Crane's voice remained calm. He was hardly phased. "Joker, I just want to eat."

"What?" The Joker paused. It was like this man had just insulted his intelligence. He sneered and through his glass of orange juice at him. "There's your food!" He pulled himself across the rolling mattress with his arms, crawling over the tray of food. He grabbed onto Crane's collar as he began to slide off the bed. The doctor toppled down with him. Twangs of pain shot through the Joker's legs upon impact, but it did little more than annoy him. He grabbed Crane's head and shoved it into the puddle of eggs.

"There's your food, you dog!" He almost growled at the doctor. That's how much he despised him. That's how much the Joker wanted to kill him. "Now eat it like the pathetic worm of a man you are!" Crane lied still, save for a few coughs into the carpet. He didn't fight, and the Joker began to pull himself back onto the waterbed. It took some effort, but he managed to get himself back onto the wobbly mass. He grabbed the sandwich that had been smashed on the bed and took a bite.

"Mm, but really, doctor, you need to try this. It's pretty good."

The doctor cracked his neck and brought his arms underneath himself. He propped himself up, arching his back with his elbows to the ground. He looked up to the bed with a small smile.

"I'm certain it is, Mr. Joker." Crane wasn't a man who would eat off the floor. No, that was something the crazies at Arkham did. Instead, he would wait their patiently as the Joker ate and wait until the next meal rolled around.


	11. Rising Tensions

Two hours of silence had passed. Dr. Crane would have gotten up sooner, but he waited for the Joker to doze off in order to avoid another barrage of food. He hated that man. He stood underneath the shower head. Hot water pattered onto his aching body. The steam was good for his sinuses. He cleared his head, lifting his hands to feel the water droplets. He was recovering slowly, the cold washing away from him. He ran one finger across the two circular scars on the nape of his neck from where Rachel had tasered him. At least she wasn't a problem for him anymore. His body was frail, he knew that. He had never been able to take a punch, let alone electrocution. The Joker, on the other hand could take quite a beating. Yes indeed, the Joker could through him around like a rag-doll. But the doctor always had the upper hand in a fight, whether others knew it or not. He always had fear in his corner. He could make even the Batman recoil in terror. He smiled. That was one thing the Joker would never be able to do. Oh sure, the clown could surprise Batman. He could confuse him, throw him off track, anger him. But he could never get him to back into a corner screaming. He'd never get to see that sudden flash of terror behind the black mask. It satisfied the doctor to know he'd always be a step above the Joker in at least that area.

The Joker was a man without taste. A barbarian, a rebel, a loose canon. He had no sense of the big picture. Sure, messages were nice, toying with Gotham's authority was a kick, but it saddened Crane that the Joker wouldn't stop to enjoy some of the finer things. The clown did his part to bring fear into the Gotham community, but he never took the time to enjoy the screams. No, he was always too occupied talking to enjoy the begging for life, the pleading for mercy. Dr. Crane turned up the hot water. The room became foggy. He knew those screams. Those beautiful, heart-wrenching screams. His only regret was that he would never know what his patients saw. No, his regular patients that paid by the hour, he knew their phobias. But the patients he used the toxin on. He'd never know, not if the toxin was potent enough. He wouldn't know precisely what it was that sent them into gut-churning whimpers on the ground. What sent them running like mad through the Narrows. But it was just as well.

It was a blessing when Kelly came up once more to pick up the plates. She knocked softly at the door, afraid to go in unannounced. Her wrist was still a bit sore. Doctor Crane wrapped the towel around his waist and ran his hands along the wall till he found the door. He cracked it opened. "Who is it?" he asked softly.

She looked at his soggy bandages and shook her head. "It's Kell-"

"Shh shhh shhh…he's sleeping." He slowly stepped back and opened the door some more. "Now, what is it you need, Kelly?"

"I…" she lowered her voice. "Here for tha dishes."

"Oh yes, do come in. I apologize for the mess. The Joker had a bit of a tantrum." He smiled in his overly-polite manner. "Abusive childhood and all, the poor man can't help it." At least in his professional opinion.

"Damn…" Kelly said when she saw the egg on the walls. She walked to the side of the bed and crouched down to pick up the mess. She jumped in her spot and turned her head quickly when she heard the door shut. Crane didn't move towards her, rather leaned back against the door. "Take it you need something' else to wear," she muttered.

"If it's not too much trouble," he said in a way that suggested she didn't have a choice. "I'd like another outfit yes. Also if you could gather my other possessions, I would be very grateful." Kelly grabbed the last bit of the wreckage and went to throw it in the bathroom garbage can. She got a washcloth and dampened it to clean the egg off the wall and carpet.

"Pops…he don't want no trouble for his customers." There was a desperate hint of fear in her voice as she worked to uphold her confidence. She knew precisely what Crane was talking about. She had been one of the unlucky few to see it work.

"I swear on my name," he put his hand over his chest. "No trouble for the customers at all."

Kelly sighed and stood up slowly. "I'll see what I can do…" She gently walked over to the closet, afraid to stir the homicidal maniac on the bed. She pulled out a few pairs of pants and a few shirts. "Ain't got anymore suit stuff."

"That is quite alright." He wanted to hear Kelly scream. But no, not until he could see her down on the floor, writhing around in terror.

"Imma put them at the foot of the be-"

"Thank you, Kelly, I can find them."

"I-" she set the clothes down. "Alright. You boys just be good, alright?" Crane smiled and nodded. Kelly took the remaining dishes from the bedside table. She took a few steps towards the door, looking back to make sure the Joker remained motionless. "Ey," she quickly. "'Scuse me."

"Oh, so sorry." Crane nodded stepped forward. He opened the door. "Also, since you're not too busy, would you be able to get a sleeping bag up here? My friend is a little…let's say…possessive of the waterbed. So be a dear, would you Kelly?" Again, she didn't really have a choice.

"Yeah sure, and hey." She looked back at the blind man. "You go ahead and get some sleep too, thing are gonna start getting' noisy up here soon." She wished Anna was there for the customers.

"You just worry about that sleeping bag, Kelly." Crane shut the door and sighed. He turned to the bed behind him and bent down slowly. He put one hand down and began to run his palm along the bed. He picked up a shirt and slung it over his shoulder. He didn't know it was a blazing red. He grabbed a pair of pants and began to make his way back to the bathroom. He removed his gauze and got dressed. He was already able to make out fuzzy silhouettes.

The day finished out with no real events. The Joker remained passed out through the arrival of lunch and the sleeping bag. Crane took the opportunity to catch up on sleep himself. Kelly had left Dr. Crane's tools on the bathroom counter. She had had to sneak them up when Pops was preoccupied, and had a feeling she would regret it later.

A far-off thud stirred the Joker. When he opened his eyes, he looked around quickly, startled. It took him a moment to register where he was. He smiled and looked to the alarm clock. 7:45. The lights were out. There was a soft buzz of noise coming from downstairs. Customers shuffled around. But that's not what woke up the Joker. The thud came again, and he looked towards the door. Then a moan. The Joker rolled his eyes and leaned his head back. He groaned in disgust.

"Hypersexual activity in such young woman indicates a lack of self-confidence and a fear of not being accepted by male figures." It rolled out of the man's mouth like a simple tongue-twister.

The Joker rolled onto his side raised an eyebrow. He peered over the bed onto the ground. "Doctor?"

The once terrifying man was zipped inside a sleeping bag. "I don't know if you can feel it, but judging by the floorboard's vibrations," he popped his neck. "I'd say it's a construction worker."

Anna sat at home, listening to the sirens outside her apartment. One of the tenants on the floor below her had been shot. From what she gathered, they weren't killed, only wounded. She felt odd. It was the first night she hadn't been to work all year. She was pretty healthy, and never really needed a sick day. But that day, she did not feel well at all. The shooting happened a few minutes after Anna got to her apartment, and she didn't plan on leaving any time after that. She took off the old jacket and took a look at herself in the mirror. She ran to the toilet and vomited. There had been so much blood. She had never been in the kitchen when Pops operated, and she never wanted to go back in again. It would have been one thing if that man, that scarred man, had been in pain. She had seen pain before. But no. That man was enjoying every minute of it. He was reveling in the blood. Her head lurched over the toilet seat.

It was 10:30, and the Joker was determined to have some fun.

* * *

Side Note: I don't know what possessed me to write this chapter. Nor do I know why I did the shower scene.


	12. Late Night Treks

Anna couldn't eat. She just kept thinking about those two men. The blind one didn't bother her too much. His thin frame and rattling cough were off-putting, but it was nothing compared to the other's blood and scars. The Joker. She had seen him on the television. She remembered seeing that man in the Batman outfit tied to the chair. She sat back in the crooked chair in the kitchen and looked up at the clock. 8:23 PM. She sighed and pushed a lock of red hair out of her eyes. She put her dishes away and headed to the living room. She didn't want to watch the news, she knew what it would say. Madmen on the run, Batman still fighting crime, rape, murder, plague, pestilence. Her choices were limited to GCN, college football, and some old BBC news reels. She'd have to sweet-talk the cable guy for another month of service. Anna decided to take her chance with sports. The state university at Gotham wasn't having a good season. The quarterback had been expelled for drug use. Coach was in deep from sexual harassment charges. It almost made her glad she didn't get accepted.

The opposing team scored a touchdown. It was the fourth quarter, and Gotham remained at a solid six points. Anna stared at the screen, unmoved. She didn't have anything riding on the game. She just needed something to keep her mind off of the day's events. The one-sided game worked for a short while, but she found her mind constantly wandering back to the blood. The Joker. That depraved man. A shiver ran through her spine. She felt sick knowing she'd just have to go back to work, but prayed she wouldn't have to see him again.

It was 10:30, and the Joker was determined to have some fun. The women of the diner were hard at work, save for that red-headed girl. The Joker let his mind think on her for a moment. There was something about her. Maybe it was her fiery hair…maybe it was her pale skin…maybe it was how she latched herself onto him as he writhed about in his own blood. Something about her just struck him. Something that made her stick out in his mind. Some minute quality in her that kept her running around in his brain like a crazed horse. The Joker tilted his head to the side, and then grinned. Oh yes, he knew what it was about her.

He sat up slowly, looking around the darkened room. Crane, the pathetic shell that Scarecrow was without his mask, slept in his little sleeping bag. He, like the Joker, was not one to get a sound night's rest regularly. Though neither were keen on relaxing, every now and then it was nice to take a few seconds to breathe. Just breathe, and sleep. But the Joker wasn't content to do that at the moment. He was driven. He reached for the bed frame and pulled himself across the rolling waves. He inched towards the edge.

"Come on, come on, come oooon…" he muttered. He managed to get one hand on the ground and slid himself off the bed. His legs flopped onto the floor with a thud and he crawled towards the closet. The wheelchair was hardly useable. He couldn't stand the thing. He was more content to be on the ground like a snake than stuck in rusted metal like a geriatric. There had to be something good in the closet. Something he could use. The Joker licked his lips and slid the doors open. His eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness, and he began to feel around on the ground. There were a few shoes, plastic bags, what felt like a dead roach, a hat, another hat, a hard hat. He stopped and smirked. He tossed the hard hat onto the bed. It would come in handy.

It was 2:17, and Anna couldn't sleep. She was cold no matter how many blankets she tossed on herself. It was no use, he kept going through her head. She had to talk to someone. Kelly had a strict "Honey I love you but don't wake my ass up after 1:00 unless you're dying or killin someone" policy, so she was out of the question. Reese. Reese could help her out. She seemed to know something about the Joker. Anna would go talk to her back at Didi's. Specialty business was cut off at 1:00, so Reese was probably just getting ready for bed. Anna threw on some tennis shoes, jeans, and a sweatshirt. She pocketed a can of mace and a taser with a good bit of a punch behind it. The diner wasn't too far off, but she wasn't a fool. She called for a cab before she headed downstairs. The police investigation of her downstairs' neighbor's shooting had long since ended. After a few minutes she was in the taxi on her way to Didi's to meet with Reese.

True to her words to Pops, Reese had gone home with Kelly that night. She was not going to stay in that diner so long as the Joker was there. Pops took a few glasses of Jack before kicking back on the sofa upstairs. He snored lightly, contently snoozing between the bedrooms. The Joker had spent hours focusing on small objects he found in the closet. Aside from the hard hat, he found a lighter without a switch, a box of peppermints, a few paper clips, a pencil, two pens, a four-pack of D-batteries, a pair of socks, and a broken hair brush. He smiled. It was going to be a good day.

* * *

Side Note: Yes, it's short. And to answer your question, Anna left before Reese told Pops she would be staying with Kelly. She did not hear any of the bedding arrangements. I won't be back till Sunday. Be satisfied till then.


	13. The Grand Finale

"Doctor…doctooooooooor…"The Joker called out softly in the darkness. He peered over the bed from his spot by the closet. He could hear Dr. Crane's slightly rattled breath. The Joker shook his head and gathered up his small treasures into his arms. He gently tossed them up onto the bed one at a time. He wiped his hands and rolled onto his side. He peered under the bed frame. He could make out the peaceful form resting its head. "Doctor….Dr. Crane…you have an appointment," he cooed under the wooden frame. There came no response.

The Joker's lip curled. His tongue darted out quickly. His muscles tensed. "DOCTOR!"

The sleeping bag flailed around as Crane shot up on the ground. The startle made him hack quickly. His eyes were wide as he looked around in total darkness. "Wha…" He began to recall his situation. "Yes, Joker?" he asked coolly.

"Turn on the light."

"I…" Crane shook his head. "What time is it?"

"Time for you to get up and turn on the light so I can see what I'm doing."

"What ARE you doing?"

"Well, I can't tell you unless I can see. Turn on the light."

Crane wriggled his way out from his sleeping bag. First he was forced to sleep on the floor, then he had food thrown at him like an animal, and then he was being told to do who knows what for whatever bizarre reason. He reached out slowly to his side. His nimble fingers grazed the wall and he inched forward. Crane felt around for the light switch, trying not to stumble over himself. He finally found the switch and flipped it on. He squinted quickly, the sudden light a pain. He slowly smiled. The light. He could see it. He could make out the red walls. He could see the blurry figure of the Joker propped up by the closet.

"I can see."

"Well," the Joker shook his head and beamed in mock-amazement. "Now isn't that a miracle of the Lord?" He waved his hand in the air. "Come here."

The doctor didn't hesitate and stepped over to the Joker. He moved the old wheelchair out of the way. He glanced at the bed, unable to discern what was in the little pile of trinkets. He looked down at the green and purple blob that he assumed to be the Joker.

"Good, doctor. Now," The blob spoke and the Joker patted the ground between himself and the bed. "Let's have a little chat."

* * *

Kelly was huddled underneath her big blue comforter. Reese had offered to stay on the couch, and Kelly wasn't about to fight over it. The mattress was about the same quality as the sofa, so it didn't make much of a difference. Kelly's apartment was warm. It wasn't the sort of warm that came from a loving home filled with a crackling fire and home cooking. It was a dingy warmness derived from stale coffee, cigarette ash and cheap apple-scented candles. Reese's face was buried in the sofa cushions. A blanket was thrown over her lazily. Her cell phone sat atop a stack of magazines. It glowed faintly in the darkness. The night was quiet, save for the rattle of the air conditioner.

BZZZZ! BZZZZRRR! Reese's phone vibrated wildly on the magazines. "ANNA" popped up on the screen in bold arial letters. Reese remained still. The phone continued to shake about.

Outside Didi's, Anna stared at the locked door. "Come on, Reese…just wake up…come on…pick up the phone…" She tapped her foot nervously and glanced around, ready to reach for her mace at any second.

Reese mumbled into the cushion and pulled the blanket over her head. The phone finally went silent and took whoever was calling her to voicemail.

Anna was beginning to get anxious. She hit redial.

Reese grabbed her phone and tossed it across the room.

* * *

Dr. Crane sat cross-legged beside the Joker. He nodded his head and began to consider the Joker's proposition. "I'm not sure that my compound can be manipulated that way." He looked to the Joker and smiled. "Of course, it's not an impossible prospect."

The Joker pushed a lock of hair behind his ear. "You just get things set up for me and-"

There was a loud creak from below them. They both paused and listened attentively. In the next room, Pops didn't stir while lock of the diner door was picked open. Anna almost tip-toed inside and cautiously shut the door behind her. She slowly made her way behind the counter and opened the door to the stairway. The ascending hall lit up quickly. Anna stopped and blinked for a second. She pushed a bit of hair out of her face before making her way up. She counted the steps as she climbed, whispering each number under her breath.

The lights flicking on made Pops scrunch his face. At the sound of shattering glass, he lazily rubbed his palms over his still-shut eyes and grumbled. He rolled onto his side and begrudgingly opened his eyes. His head was still spinning, and the sudden wake-up didn't help. Pops sat up and looked around. His eyes widened. "What the hell…"

Anna reached the top of the stairs and reached for the door knob. The lights were on, so someone was awake. But something in her gut told her to run. Something was screaming for her to get the hell out of the diner. Her hand shook as she grasped the knob. Anna inched the door open. There was nothing she could have done to hold back her shriek when she saw what had been happening in the room.

With one arm, the Scarecrow held Pops against his chest. With his other arm, he sprayed a mist from his canister. Pops fell to the ground, screaming up at the man with the burlap sack on his head. Scarecrow couldn't make out every detail of his petrified face, but the screaming satisfied him just as well.

"Oh God! Oh God!" Pops' eyes widened in terror. The room was melting into thousands of snakes. They were going to kill him, he just knew it. Anna stepped into the room quickly. "Help! Help!" Pops held his legs to himself.

"Pops-" Not even two feet in the room, Anna hit the ground with a thud. Her fingers twitched against the filthy carpet. The Joker towered above her, leaning against the wall for support. His legs trembled beneath him and he struggled to keep himself up. The sock full of D batteries tapped against the wall, sedate after the sudden contact with Anna's skull. He smirked and looked down at the unconscious girl. So many things to do. So many wonderful things. Wonderful…horrible things. The Joker grinned and-

"Oh please no! No! No!" Pops shouted for dear life, and Scarecrow looked down at him curiously. He once more wished he knew what his victim suffered from. Perhaps the walls were bleeding. Maybe spiders were crawling over his flesh. Maybe he was being mercilessly beaten by a drunken father. The burlap hung loosely around his face; he could feel every warm breath he took brushing back over him. Scarecrow knelt in front of Pops and studied him with professional curiosity. Like most victims, Pops assumed a position he felt would protect himself most from whatever hallucination he was experiencing. The doctor wouldn't need to make any physical contact.

"Doctor, I think it's time for our friend to have a little shut-eye." The Joker tossed the make-shift weapon to his cohort. The sock fell the Scarecrow's feet. He picked it up with little to no enthusiasm.

"It's just so…barbaric."

In the middle of a blood-curdling howl, Pops fell into darkness.

* * *

She was floating. Drifting through the sea. Anna's body was being tossed about in the waves. She could feel herself whirling around, but could not see anything. She felt herself drop in the waves, and rise. Drop and rise, drop and rise. Finally there was a hint of light. As Anna's eyes began to focus she could make out one very colorful blur. Red was all around her. Yes, there was red, but then there was also black. And white. Black, white, red. Purple, green. It was all a swirling haze. There was something peculiar about the swirl of colors. They looked somehow familiar. They seemed to move in an organized fashion. Slowly the picture came into focus. Anna's eyes grew wide as the face, grinning, contorting, became as clear as crystal. She did indeed recognize those colors. The red guest room. Reese's black eye shadow. Kelly's cherry red lipstick that she would flaunt with pride. But it wasn't her friend that donned the whorehouse cosmetics.

"Wake up. Wake up, wake up, wake up sweety," the Joker's voice was like sand paper over broken glass. "It's time for school."

Before Anna could scream, she felt the jagged edge on her neck. She was crumbled on the waterbed in Pops and Reese's room. The Joker sat on the side of the bed, leaning over her still-stunned body.

"Imma let you in on a little secret." The Joker's face grew somber.

"I…what?" Anna's eyes darted around the room.

"How I got these scars. Now, a long time ago, I was a kid, just like you." He nodded, his eyes became reflective.

"I was very close with my parents, see. My mother was a maid. Sweet woman. Worked quite a bit. She seemed happy enough though. And my father…my father…was a saint of a man in my eyes. He would stay home and move mountains for my mother and me." Anna's lip quivered as the shard of the bathroom mirror gently passed over her cheek.

"I was a good kid. Got good grades, did the dish-" Anna wriggled in his grasp, but he clenched onto her face.

"Please let me-"

"Uh uh uh, come on. Just listen. Now," he cleared his throat and licked his lips. His eyebrows softly drew together. "I was always a pretty happy kid. A prep, if you wanna call it that. Everyone used to say I had such a dashing smile." He paused for a moment, his lips softly pulling into a grin.

"I don't know what you're talking about-"

"Shh shh shh…it's okay." He let the cold glass slide down her cheek. "One afternoon, I found out that my father was not quite the saint I thought he was. It was a half-day at school, so I got home early." He bit his lower lip, his eyes beginning to water. "And there was dad…and there was our neighbor, Olivia Blithe." A sharp laugh escaped him.

"Dad saw me first. Mrs. Blithe was busy on her knees." Another sharp laugh, like a hyena with a fresh piece of meat. Anna couldn't speak. She could barely breathe.

"Of course, I ran to my room. Locked the door. Daddy didn't care for that. He wanted to talk. He did everything but kick my door down. Being the…fool I was…I didn't tell mom. Then I realized I didn't have to. She knew." He smirked.

"They always know. Like every wife of every man you've fooled around with knows what he does at night while she drinks. But, I digress…"

He drew the smooth flat surface across Anna's whimpering lips.

"I would miss a day of school and get to hear everything. Mommy and daddy having it out. My sweet, smiling mother sobbing on her way to the car. My father breaking dishes after she left. Mom started coming home later and later. Forget about family meals. Whenever I would make it to school, people would notice I wasn't quite so happy." He shook his head. "I didn't have much of a reason to smile anymore."

He sighed and shut his eyes. A small whimper escaped him. "So one night, I was holed up in my room, staring at the ceiling. Things were a bit noisier than usual. Daddy seemed very, very agitated." He paused. "Or very, very afraid."

"And then there was a knock. It was my mother. She was…a mess. A big, bruised, bloody mess. I was horrified!" He almost jumped off the bed with a twitch.

"I sat up in bed and asked what was wrong, I asked where dad was. She shook her head. I asked her again…again I asked her again." His voice became strained. He stared right into Anna's eyes. Every inch of her body tensed.

"She pulled a crimson steak knife out from her tattered, bloody pink robe and said…said 'Smile for momma, Trevor.' I froze…smile? How could I smile, I was terrified. She took a step closer. 'Smile, baby.' My mouth hung open."

He squeezed her jaw until she whined. He slid the sharp glass into her mouth. Tears streamed down Anna's cheeks.

"She stuck the knife in my mouth. I could feel the serrated edge graze against the inside of my cheek. I tasted blood." He applied the slightest bit of pressure inside Anna's cheek. "She said 'Smile, baby.' And held on to the back of my head. I tried to protest but she just…" He choked on his words, a small sob escaped him.

The redheaded girl's heart was racing. Her tears were hot, her face was white as a bed sheet.

"Anna…" The Joker's voice was soft. He held the glass steady in her mouth.

Anna whimpered ever so softly.

"Smile, baby."

The glass tore through Anna's cheek like it was paper. She almost immediately passed out from the sudden shock, but not before the Joker sliced through her other cheek. Blood gushed from her mouth and gurgled in her throat as she tried to hang on to the spinning colors. The Joker's cackle pierced her brain like a jackhammer. There was a flash of light as the glass slammed into her neck. The Joker grunted and twisted the shard. He pulled it out and swung it through her jugular with a blood-splattered grin.

* * *

Downstairs, the Dr. Crane sipped on a cup of fresh coffee. Caffeine wasn't his favorite, but sometimes he needed it to get through the day. His mask rested on the counter top beside a few napkins. He didn't trust any surface in the building. While the Joker was busy with Anna, Crane had gone ahead and prepared a few things. He pulled out the switches and exposed the wires Joker had told him to. He had stuck the broken lighter in a wall socket and set a few of the paperclips the Joker found near it. Crane had an idea of what the Joker had in mind, but he knew he could never be quite positive with him.

Icy blue eyes locked onto the door leading to the stairway when he heard footsteps. Crane stood up and finished off his coffee. He wiped his mouth and slid on his mask with ease as the Joker descended into the kitchen. Crane raised an eyebrow and took note of the massive amount of blood coating the Joker.

"You know, doctor," the clown said as he pushed a lock of hair back. He placed a bright yellow hard hat on the counter before he began to search through a few cabinets.

"There's always more blood than you think there will be." He looked up with a grin. "It's pretty amazing, really."

"I'm sure it is." Scarecrow rolled his eyes. He wasn't one for the more brutal aspects of murder. A quick shot was enough for him. No point in getting messy.

The Joker pulled out a small box of matches with a triumphant sneer. "May I have a minute?"

Scarecrow nodded and headed towards the door. He would let the Joker have his fun.

* * *

Didi's Dollar Diner struggled with the flames that engulfed her.

"It's a shame, really." Scarecrow gazed into the flames. His blue eyes examined every crumbling brick with amazement.

"Oh?" The Joker's mind wasn't in a place for conversation. He leaned against the alley wall, one hand stretched out into the heated air, the other clutching onto the hardhat. "What would that be?"

The doctor tilted his head and folded his arms. It all seemed like a blur.

"That we had to work with such an undesirable setting." He sighed with a hint of regret. "Now, had we been able to avoid inj-"

"Don't." The Joker smacked his lips and shook his head. "Don't…it was…perfect."

"Be that as it may," his ears listened to the growing sirens and the fading screams. "I don't feel as though we were able to act as ourselves today."

The Joker remained silent. The cheap makeup he had slathered on began to run down his bloody face.

"In times of great stress or agitation, people tend to take up different roles and personalities. For example, a mother. She may be kind, nurturing towards her child at all times. But once she finds out he is sneaking out every night, going to a club, experimenting with ecstasy…she is no longer his mother. She is a police officer. Now you and I," he waved his hand between himself and the man clad in the unnaturally purple shirt. "Were forced to assume different roles. We were forced to become animals bent on survival. We worked together to escape, then once we were comfortable, we turned against each o-"

"Doctor."

"Yes, Joker?" Scarecrow hated being interrupted. Beneath the burlap his lips pursed.

"Be quiet." The Joker had assumed the role of the passive viewer as Didi's crumbled before them.

The Joker cracked his neck and yawned. He'd have to find a dingy motel to get cleaned up in, find some new clothes, and maybe get a sound sleep.

As the sirens grew ever closer, the Joker and Scarecrow began lazily winding through the alleys. Every step the Joker took felt like he was being shot again. Aside from his gory covering, one might think he was drunk. He could feel the glue tugging at his skin, begging him to rest, but he paid it no attention. He hummed softly as they trekked onward.

"I'll contact you when the compound is ready for manipulation. Then we can talk about specifics."

"Wonderful…until then…doctor." The Joker extended his bloody hand. "It's been a pleasure."

Scarecrow cautiously clasped his boney fingers around the Joker's filthy skin. "Until then."

The two stepped out into a back alley and checked the skies. Batman wouldn't be too far behind, and neither were ready to return to Arkham just yet. As they began to part ways, the Scarecrow paused and turned back to his temporary companion.

"Joker?" he called out coolly.

"Yes, doctor?" His legs were not in the mood for idle chatter.

The Scarecrow wasn't one to question the Joker's actions. He knew it was a useless journey to find any answers. But one thing bothered him.

"Why did you bring the hardhat with you?" Behind the mask, Jonathan smiled with curiosity.

"Well," a smile ran across the Joker's face. "I could use a job." He slipped the yellow hard hat on his mess of hair.

"And I hear there's a nice-paying construction job over at Wayne Manor."

A small snort escaped the Scarecrow. He turned and began to wander in his own direction.

"Sounds like a blast," he said with the slightest hint of an unprofessional tone.

The clown gently sighed in relief. The doctor did have a sense of humor, after all.

The Joker hummed and tapped the hard hat as he sauntered through the back alleys of Gotham City. He didn't know what time it was. He didn't even care to find out.

* * *

And that, dear readers, concludes this excerpt from The Adventures Of Scarecrow And Joker. I thank you for your attention and your reviews. Stay tuned for the sequel, Basic Chemistry. Until then, I shall have other non-related Dark Knight fiction in the progress. Thank you.


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